


Who We Are Alone

by raemanzu, spica_tea



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Asexual Character, Blood and Injury, Brotherly Love, Brothers, Cadets, Character Death, Crash Landing, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Trauma, Soldiers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-09-26
Packaged: 2019-07-10 13:57:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 26,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15950762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raemanzu/pseuds/raemanzu, https://archiveofourown.org/users/spica_tea/pseuds/spica_tea
Summary: Cody, Rex, and half their training cohort head out on an endurance mission to a remote planet, but the landing goes very, very wrong. The effects of the crash are not only physically devastating, but the psychological toll also forces Rex to examine his beliefs, relationships, and identity in a new light. (The “How Cody Got His Scar” fic). This fic is in the same canon as Live to Fight Another Day and One of a Million, but you need not have read them to read this. Set just before the beginning of the war.





	1. Chapter 1

            There were five of them in the transport, not counting the pilot. Rex looked around the small, enclosed, rumbling space at his brothers. As he did, Cody caught his eye and smiled a little, standing casually to Rex’s right, not holding onto the overhead grips even though they’d hit atmosphere a second ago.

            No Kaminoans or other trainers on this flight. They were close enough to graduating that Os Tala had no reason to hover over their shoulders anymore, not even on the way down; the pilot had to test his skills too.

            “Nervous?” Cody asked. Rex waited for anyone else to answer, but Cody was looking at him.

            “Are you?” Rex asked.

            “Nah.” Cody reached over to pat Rex’s hair—Rex pushed his arm away, but not before Cody managed to mess it up. No helmets today, and no armor. “How hard could this be? We’re just camping out for a few weeks.”

            “Don’t get too relaxed,” Rex warned, finger-combing his hair back into place. “This is still a mission. A test of our resilience. It’s not meant to be easy.”

            “Maybe, but at least nobody’s gonna be shooting at us. Probably.”

            “Confident Cody,” said Fort, balancing his long rifle on his shoulder. “You know, when you say that, it’s just asking for something to go wrong.”

            “That’s right!” barked Snapper enthusiastically, hunching and making monster hands at Fort. “Once we start _starving_ you’ll have to tie me down so I don’t EAT you!” He laughed.

            “Gross,” muttered 588 with arms folded. “More like you’ll have to tie _me_ down so I won’t try to make Snapper shut up when we’re all on edge.”

            “Why are you so nervous?” Snapper asked cheerfully.

            “Maybe we could _not_ joke about being eaten?” 588 said. “Just an idea. We don’t know what’s down there.”

            “Alright, alright,” Rex said with exaggerated patience. “Let’s review what we know about the planet. Then we’ll all be prepared. Cody, what will be our primary source of food on Pzob’s surface? Assuming we land in a less temperate region… which, I’m sure we will.”

            “Well, we could always try to eat some feather-lizards,” Cody joked.

            “Cody,” Rex warned.

            “What? The file on Pzob says they’re everywhere!”

            “Yeah and they’re about this big,” he said, holding up his fingers to show the little space between. “The illustration makes me doubt they have much meat on ‘em. Bet they’re fast, too.”

            “Is there really nothing big enough to hunt there?” Snapper sighed.

            “Hopefully nothing big enough to hunt _us_ ,” 588 said.

            “This information was available on the computer if you’d bothered to check before we left,” Rex reminded them. “Cody—a serious answer?”

            Cody sighed with an indulgent smile. “Alright… I was just waiting to see if anybody else wanted to volunteer. But since no one has… the easiest source of energy is probably tubers, seeing as there are both dry and wet-climate varieties native to this planet.”

            “I knew that,” 588 said.

            Cody was looking up, trying to remember. “Close second is cress and sica leaves, but they sure won’t be filling.”

            “And third?” Rex asked.

            Cody frowned at Rex, and Rex smirked back.

            Snapper laughed. “Those were the only foods the file said, Rex. I remember because I was talking to Rocky about it and showed him how it said we’d have to try our best to find any other food sources and good luck not being poisoned!”

            “Great,” said 588.

            “Oh, a trick question, eh?” Cody gave Rex a sly look. “I see how it is.”

            “Just checking who actually read the file,” Rex shrugged.

            “Alright,” said Cody. “So let’s go over listed threats.”

            “Is this another—”

            Fort cut off as the ship bounced and rocked.

            “Hey Hopper, take it easy up there!” Snapper yelled teasingly to the pilot through the wall comm. “Some of us are trying to sleep!”

            Instead of a response from Hopper, a repetitive noise began, rising in pitch. The lights switched red.

            “Ship alarm,” Rex muttered. “Maybe we hit a storm.”

            “Negative,” said Hopper quietly through the comm. Then, louder, “Engines have overheated. Trying to cycle them back online. Hang on.”

            “Oh no,” Fort said quietly, and pointed at Cody. “What did I say?”

            Cody laughed nervously and grabbed onto an overhead grip as the ship bucked and tilted. Rex grabbed one too, and took a slow breath. Hopper would figure it out.

            “Why would the engines overheat?” 588 whispered to Fort. “Did we come in too fast?”

            The comm crackled. Hopper’s voice was strained. “We’re going down. Strap in and brace yourselves!”

            The ship rattled and rattled until everyone Rex looked at had two heads—one above and one below as they lurched toward the wall-inset seats on opposite sides, facing each other across the cabin. The rattling went up his boots through his bones into his teeth; he tried in vain to keep them from clicking together, and felt as if he had two heads as well. Strapping himself in against the wall with shaking hands, he wished he could see how close they were to the ground, turning his warping skull to make eye contact with Cody—four wide eyes looked back at him, blurry.

            Suddenly the rattling smoothed and Rex’s stomach lurched back into place—a sigh of relief gushed out of him and was echoed around the quiet cabin. Across from Rex, Snapper started to laugh.

            A deep, earsplitting shriek tore through them in the same moment Rex felt his body slam against the restraints hard enough to pound every molecule of air from his lungs, no time to process anything but a vague thought of gravity being reversed.

…

            _Squeak._

            Rex wondered what the noise was. For an irrational moment he thought it was coming from his own bones… his neck felt like every muscle in it had been pulled tight enough to fray against his spine. He tasted blood, smelled blood and burning and dirt and heard his own wet breath. His chest hurt. Something was against his face, not hard enough to be the metal floor. He tried to open his eyes.

            _Squeak._

Rex opened his eyes to a blur of cloth and skin. It took a long moment for focus to come, along with the realization that someone was on top of him.

            “Fort,” Rex tried to say, but it didn’t come out at first. He tried to take a deep breath and winced. “Fort, wake up.”

            Fort didn’t move. Rex struggled to get his arms under Fort’s chest and push him back—his eyes were open, unseeing, and Rex threw the body to his left side with an urgency that shocked him. Hot revulsion crawled under his skin. Rex licked blood off his upper lip and stared at the crumpled body, flopped on its side now. Fort. If only his eyes had been closed, he could have been sleeping.

            “Wake up,” Rex hissed, already knowing it was hopeless. He breathed in a mouthful of acrid air—the smell and taste of the crash stinging his tongue and throat—and didn’t let himself say it again.

            Another breath, through his nose this time, but even so he _still_ nearly gagged. _Squeak._ The noise was coming from outside, some kind of animal. A bird, maybe. It was so quiet. A feverish shiver gripped Rex, a terrible certainty that he was the only survivor. He forced himself to look away from the dead body.

            The ship had settled halfway on its side, leaving no flat surface to truly call the floor. Instead, Rex’s seat and the wall it was built into were tilted back with the rest of the ship, lifting the opposite wall higher. What had once been the floor was now a cracked and distorted ramp in front of Rex, leading upward to where 588 and Snapper’s eyes were closed, their arms hanging down a little toward him from where they were belted in, pieces of the interior wall behind them cracked or missing. And to Rex’s left, near the back of the ship, the entire rear door had been ripped away, letting in a hazy light and a grayish-green view of dark mud and tangled vegetation.

            Before he could stop himself, Rex looked to his right, toward the nose of the ship, and jumped at the noise that came out of his mouth. Blood and bone shone where Cody’s face should be, his hair and shoulders soaked dark.

            “Cody!” Rex lurched, forgetting the straps—he fumbled to release them. “CODY!”

            He flailed and stumbled as soon as he tried to walk, knees buckling and boots failing their grip on the uneven “floor”. _He’s dead_ , Rex told himself in the split second it took him to brace his feet and crouch shakily beside Cody’s body, straddling the loose blood-soaked pieces of metal collected where the former wall and the former floor met, some of them as long as his arm. Cody’s body. He wasn’t going to feel a pulse. There was so much blood. Too much. _If the others are dead, he’s dead._ There was just too much blood.

            Rex saw the other side of his face, perfectly unharmed, eyes shut—he put his hand on Cody’s right cheek, dug his fingers under Cody’s jaw, trying not to look at the skin that was peeled back from his left eye, the exposed bone, or the way his mouth was hanging open a little, edges of his teeth stained red with the blood that had pooled inside.

            Nothing. No, there: a pulse. _He’s alive. He’s alive!_ Impossible. Rex waited, counted ten before he was sure he hadn’t imagined it. _Ten!_ If Cody was alive, maybe the others were too. But Cody wouldn’t be for long—

            “Cody! Wake up! CODY!” Rex’s own voice surprised him, stronger and clearer than he thought it would be. “Cody!” Rex glanced over his shoulder at the other two, unconscious with no visible open wounds, then back at the blood coating Cody’s face, still wet and vivid. “Okay,” Rex said to himself. His training came back to him. “Stop the bleeding. Treat for shock. Check the others.” Rex tried not to look back at Fort as he stepped over Cody’s legs and side-stepped his way across the tilted floor toward the med kit compartment near the cockpit. His left knee hurt, and he remembered the way the former floor had bulged and cracked near where he’d been sitting.

            The med kit came free of the wall with no problem. Rex carefully eased his way back down the slant, hurried to Cody’s side, pulled out a square bandage, and hesitated for a moment. The skin was pulled and bunched away from the wound. Rex reached out, intending to smooth it back to the way it was supposed to be—his fingers were unsteady.

            _I know what to do._ His mind cleared; he knew the urgency of the situation but didn’t feel much. Still he shivered. Stop the bleeding first. He pushed the bandage down onto the wound, pressed hard and breathed out.

            “Cody,” he called, and glanced over his shoulder again to see if the others responded to his voice. No movement. “Cody….”

            After interminable minutes of silence, Rex’s arm cramping from the pressure, the bleeding had nearly stopped. With one bloodied hand he grabbed the roll of gauze and began winding it around Cody’s head.

            “I’m gonna go check on the others after this,” Rex said, even though he knew Cody couldn’t hear him. He licked his lips again and swallowed the bitter taste with a shudder as he cinched the knot. Cody grunted and jerked his head. “Cody! Cody, can you hear me?”

            Cody let out a strangled whimper and clenched his teeth—sucked in a breath and cried out through them again. Rex’s stomach burned and his gloved fingers smeared blood on Cody’s cheek when he automatically reached for the clean part of his face.

            “Cody, it’s okay. It’s Rex. I-I got you. You’ve lost a lot of blood. But the bleeding’s slowed down. Just… don’t move.” Rex reached for a hypo of painkillers and injected.

            Cody didn’t say anything, his noises wordless, eyes screwed shut. His hand, as it jerked upward blindly, collided with Rex’s stomach and Rex pulled away. Cody stopped short of touching his own head, hand hovering in mid air, lost. Rex stared at it and stood up. Treatment for shock said to elevate the feet _unless_ the head is wounded. He left them where they were for now, braced against a warp in what had once been the floor.

            “Cody, I have to go check on the others. I think they’re still alive. I’ll be right back. Don’t… go anywhere, just stay there,” Rex said, realizing as he said it that Cody certainly wasn’t going anywhere on his own steam. “It’s alright.” He pressed his mouth shut against the lie and grabbed the medkit, unfolded an emergency blanket from inside and spread it over Cody. Then he took slow, heavy steps toward the opposite wall, away from Cody’s pained breathing and reaching hand.

            Once Rex reached the others, he grabbed onto 588’s safety restraints to steady himself and felt for a pulse. Nearly forty seconds passed… and he let his hand fall away from 588’s neck.

            “I’m sorry,” he said under his breath, wondering if 588 had died instantly or if he’d been hanging on, unconscious, while Rex tended to Cody. Rex shook himself and moved on to Snapper.

            Snapper stirred when Rex pressed him for a pulse, coughed and gasped and coughed again.

            “Snapper!” Rex yelled in surprise. “You’re alive! I’m gonna get you down from here. Hang on to me.” He grabbed Snapper’s hanging arm and put it over his own shoulder, then the other one before he planted his feet and pressed the release for Snapper’s safety restraints.

            The other cadet fell on him with more force than Rex expected—his feet slid backward on the decline and he felt himself falling. A rush of adrenaline; he grabbed Snapper tight and twisted, stumbling to turn around so he was facing the decline—the extra weight overbalanced him and knocked him onto his back, with Snapper on top of him.

            “Rex?” Snapper choked out.

            “Yeah,” Rex said, and patted Snapper on the back even though the weight on his chest was painful. “You’re injured?”

            “Left side,” Snapper said tightly. “Never f…elt anything like it.”

            “Broken ribs?” Rex asked once he’d managed to ease them both into an awkward sit, careful of Snapper’s left side as he helped him lay down in a more comfortable position on his back.

            “I dunno… it’s… everything,” Snapper panted.

            Rex tore open Snapper’s shirt to see if there was any bleeding, but there were only long dark marks where the restraints had bruised him. He felt Snapper’s ribs, but nothing seemed obviously broken.

            “Rest for now,” Rex said, glancing at Cody again, who was still conscious, good eye open just a slit and watching him. He gave Snapper the next vial of painkillers, opened the second emergency blanket and spread it over him. “I’ll go see if Hopper’s alive.”

            Snapper just swallowed and closed his eyes.

            Rex’s aching knees shuffled him across the slant, toward the cockpit. Medkit in hand, he braced himself for what he might find. He saw bits of transparisteel littering the floor like a blinding kaleidoscope before he was close enough to see Hopper, awake and breathing heavily, several dark and bright spots on his clothing from where flying debris had hit him.

            “Rex!” he gasped quietly, eyes wild. “You’re alive! I-I tried… to land… is anybody else alive?”

            “Cody and Snapper,” Rex said, staring in disbelief. “Can you move?”

            “Maybe. Yes.” Hopper looked down at himself and tried to unbuckle, hands torn, his right one with a small piece of shrapnel stuck in his wrist. He stopped and started again several times, moving slowly, staring as if his eyes wouldn’t focus. Rex bent and carefully eased the straps over Hopper’s shoulders, helped him pull his arms free. Hopper took a deep breath and grabbed weakly onto Rex’s shoulders, and Rex pulled him up only for his eyes to settle on the blood dripping sideways off the pilot’s seat, overflowing from where it had gathered in a crease. It was joining a fresh puddle forming under Hopper’s boots.

            “Oh no,” Rex said numbly, staring at it. “Hopper… you’re bleeding out.”

            Hopper clung to him, gulping weakly. His knees shook and buckled. Rex fell to one knee, all warmth drained from his limbs, and eased them both down into a sit, Hopper leaning against him.

            “I have to stop the bleeding,” Rex said, searching for an obvious sign of where Hopper had been hit. A wide transparent shard was embedded into the seat—there was a tear in Hopper’s pants on what would have been the same side. Rex pulled it open wider and pressed another bandage to the area; it soaked through immediately. Rex pulled it away for a split second, just to confirm he had found the right spot, then continued pressing, blood seeping through, around his fingers. He hated how weak Hopper’s breathing was.

            “I’m dizzy,” Hopper said faintly, head falling away from Rex, leading his body to tip that way—Rex reached with one hand to pull him back toward him. Hopper collapsed against Rex’s side.

            “This isn’t working!” Rex cried desperately, Hopper’s breathing in his ear, and reached for more gauze to try and cut off the blood supply from higher up Hopper’s thigh.

            “I don’t know what I did wrong.” Hopper’s voice was high, soft and confused. “I don’t know why… this happened….”

            “It’s okay, Hopper. It’s okay,” Rex said, even though it wasn’t. It wasn’t. Fort was dead, 588 was dead, Cody—was going—Hopper was going to…. “Hopper—”

            Hopper’s eyes were drifting closed.

            “Hopper! Hopper. Look at me.” Rex reached for Hopper’s face with the hand that wasn’t occupied in twisting the gauze tight. “Hopper. You did all you could.”

            Hopper’s face was clammy. His eyes connected with Rex’s for a moment, tired. He looked so tired. They fell closed and his head drooped again.

            “Hopper!” Rex felt for his pulse. “Hopper, open your eyes.”

            Seven seconds. Ten seconds. Fifteen. Nothing. Rex let go of the tourniquet and put both arms around Hopper to ease his limp body down.

            “You did all you could,” Rex whispered futilely. The pilot lay quiet, torn leg still propped up over both of Rex’s until Rex carefully lifted it off and set it down in front of him, staring at the dark dampness all over him. _Call for help,_ his training told him. But for a long time he couldn’t bring himself to move, just staring at the body in front of him.

            He’d always known that some of them would die on the battlefield. Probably many. This wasn’t even the first brother Rex had lost during training, but….

            Hopper’s blood covered the floor, and Rex replayed the moment in his mind, the feeling of Fort’s body, Hopper’s body, so heavy in his arms, and the gasp of Hopper’s last words on his cheek. How many more times would he have to do this?

            Sluggishly, as if waking up, Rex reached over Hopper’s body to the control panel and tried to turn on the long-distance transmitter.

            Three tries. No power.

            Cody and Snapper needed him. Rex got to his feet and left the cockpit, side-stepping across the slant again, leaving a smear of Hopper’s blood wherever he touched.

            Snapper was asleep, his pulse still weakly going, his breathing still pained. Cody’s eye cracked open again when he heard Rex coming.

            “Cody,” Rex sighed, half-falling down beside him. “Hopper’s dead. Five-Eighty-Eight too. And Fort.” A thought gripped him and he pulled back the blanket, patted Cody’s chest and legs. “Do you have any other injuries?”

            Nothing felt out of place. He undid the seat restraints and pulled Cody’s arms through so he could open his shirt and check more thoroughly. There were the same bruises Snapper had—probably his own body looked the same—but no other obvious injuries. Cody made a questioning, wordless noise as Rex sat back and stared at the blood-soaked bandage on his head.

            “I should try to clean the wound,” Rex said. “If the bleeding’s stopped.”

            He untied the bandage —it took several tries, fumbling at the tight knot with wet fingers. The bleeding had slowed to the slightest ooze, but the wound looked as bad as ever. The sight of its edges and the bone underneath, the burnt chemical smell of the crash, wrung Rex’s stomach; for a moment he had to hold his breath as he covered the wound back up.

            “I need more light,” Rex finally muttered to himself, weighing the risks and benefits of trying to move Cody outside. He’d seen Cody’s neck move. And his arm. Maybe his spine wasn’t injured. Gently, Rex pressed his fingers to both sides of Cody’s upper spine and the base of his skull. “How’s your neck?”

            Cody gave an indistinct creak, but there were no sudden flinches or gasps of pain.

            “Alright… and you can feel your limbs.”

            “Y…eah.” Cody winced, moving each of them a little. The sound of his voice brought a rush of relief.

            “I’m going to try moving you.” At this angle, it was going to be difficult to smoothly pull Cody upright, but he planted his own feet near Cody’s, shifting until he found a firm stance, and took Cody’s wrists. It took a moment to get a good grip, his gloves still slippery with Hopper’s blood.

            With a heave, Rex pulled him onto his back and crossed Cody’s arms in front of his chest, Cody’s rough breathing in his ear. Cody groaned and his feet shifted weakly, body trembling as he tried and failed to support his own weight on the uneven surface beneath them.

            “That’s it,” Rex said encouragingly. “Just one step at a time.”

            One step, then another. Cody’s breath and weight became Hopper’s breath and weight—looking down at his feet, Rex almost expected a fresh pool of blood to form beneath them. His body began to ache after about the seventh step. Even that many steps seemed to take ages. By the time they had reached the jagged opening where metal turned to earth, both of them were panting hard. Just a few more steps and they were free of the wreckage.

            He shifted carefully to one knee and let Cody sit before twisting back around to help him lie down on the dirt. Maybe it was just the brighter light, but Cody’s face seemed more pale and clammy now, his good eye struggling to focus. For five long seconds, Rex hesitated to leave him.

            But he stood. He had to move. Within a dazed minute and a few lurching steps, Rex had brought the first aid kit back to Cody’s side, but two of the other supply crates, including the water, had broken loose in the crash and were nowhere to be found inside the wreckage.

            Patches of white among the foliage outside caught Rex’s eye: a few packs of dry rations were scattered around the crash site. He went out and gathered them in his arms as he searched. When he found the supply crate they’d come from, overturned and half-buried in mud, the water packs were still stuck to the inside, miraculously less than half of them burst. All told it was supposed to be enough for all five of them for twenty hours. Now it might last him, Cody, and Snapper a couple of days.

            He pushed the crate upright, dumped his armload of rations in, grabbed a few water packs and hurried back to Cody’s side. There, methodically, he laid out his materials on the lid of the medkit: gauze pad, tweezers, bulb syringe, bandages and bacta patch. He pulled on the fresh pair of gloves from the medkit and bent over Cody’s head, frowning.

            Cody stared through him as he removed the bandage and took a good look at the edges of ragged skin. Now that the bleeding had stopped, Rex could see more clearly that the wound was actually two wounds—one at the top right of Cody’s forehead in a rough U-shape, and another jagged line curving around Cody’s eye socket and across his cheek. He grabbed a hypo of local anesthetic and discharged it as close to the wound as he could—Cody gasped and flinched away. Rex put his left hand firmly against his cheek to keep him steady.

            “Cody,” he said quietly. “I’m going to scrub the wound clean. And then… I’m going to try and stitch it up.”

            Cody’s eyes were shut tight. That first hypo clearly hadn’t been sufficient on its own, but now Cody’s breathing slowed, and he swallowed with some effort

            “Okay?” Rex asked. “It’s kicking in, right?”

            “H…o…kay,” Cody managed. “Yeah.”

            Rex uncapped the water pack and filled the syringe. Next he placed the tweezers in the middle of the upper forehead wound, lifting the loose skin a little away from the skull. A little tape held them in place so that he didn’t have to. Cody breathed slowly, deliberately.

            Gauze pad in one hand, syringe in the other, Rex filled the wound with water and began scrubbing, fast and thorough. Cody stiffened, but didn’t cry out—the anesthetic was working. Blood welled up immediately and spread down Cody’s face again, and Rex continued, more water, more scrubbing, trying not to think about nerve endings, until Cody was spluttering a little as the blood ran into his mouth, and Rex was satisfied it was enough. Pressure on the wound—Cody began to breathe easier as the bleeding slowed.

            “Okay.” Rex left that wound covered once he was satisfied that the bleeding had stopped. “Time for the rest.”

            “The…?” Cody’s voice was a weak croak.

            “Sorry, Cody,” Rex said grimly, giving himself over to protocol. No time to think, or feel, only to act. “Still two-thirds to go.”

            It took longer this time, and the tweezers were nearly useless due to the length and angle—at several points Rex found himself holding Cody’s skin apart with his own fingertips instead as he scrubbed. Once again, blood and water flowed freely down Cody’s face, and he kept his mouth clamped tightly shut.

            Rex tried to hurry, but it was still a few minutes later that he finally discarded the gauze pad he’d been scrubbing with and went back to putting pressure on the wound.

            Then, he could finally take stock of Cody’s tense face, his fists, and the shivering that hadn’t quite subsided. Rex could feel the chill trickle back into his veins, and the images of Cody, glassy-eyed and still, swam back to the surface of his mind. Rex tried to imagine graduating without him, and could only summon a blank without reference points, a thick, clouded night sky.

            For a long time, Rex sat there, neither of them speaking, Cody’s eyes remaining closed until Rex began to wonder if he was asleep. To reassure himself, he kept watch on Cody’s breathing. Snapper hadn’t moved or made a sound while Rex worked. It was time to check on him, too. Slowly, Rex unfolded his aching limbs and stepped away.

            A blur of minutes and steps later, satisfied that Snapper was merely sleeping, not dead, Rex’s fingers pulled the curved needle through the skin of Cody’s skull, barely believing what he was watching himself do. More blood welled up from the punctures. A muscle in Cody’s jaw quivered, despite the painkillers. Maybe it was from tension in his spine.

            In, out, clip, tie… the needle seemed so close to the bone. It was getting slippery. Rex hated every second. Halfway up the gash, despite the fresh streak of red reaching his jaw and neck, Cody’s breathing quieted again, and Rex’s stomach disappeared.

            “Cody?” He said faintly, and felt for the last beats of his pulse. But they kept going. Cody breathed steadily… sleeping. “Yeah,” Rex said, pulling his hand back toward the next knot he had to tie. “Rest….”

            As he stitched, he listened to Cody’s breathing, waiting for each one to be his last. But he kept breathing, and the planet kept quiet enough to let Rex hear it.

…

            Rex stepped over the root with his right foot, stopping for a moment to regain his balance before lurching forward with his left foot as well. The weight of Fort’s body on his back made his arms ache and his legs feel like heavy stumps.

            Around him, the swamp was full of cheeping and chirping despite the shattered bits of spacecraft scattered through the twisted trees. They weren’t that far from the crash site, but Rex felt as if he’d walked five miles. Muscles quaking, Rex took another step, then another, tugging himself and Fort free of the tiny thorns on a nearby vine, and stumbled into a hidden hole in the ground, nearly rolling his ankle. The sturdy boots saved him as he wobbled and shifted in place.

            Lifting his foot, it felt as if gravity had doubled. Rex stepped onto the edge of the hole; mud slipped under him and he fell, Fort’s body sliding off his back with a loud crackle and thud as the brush beneath broke its fall.

            Rex pushed himself upright, but paused, trembling.

            Any adrenaline he’d had was gone. In its place, sudden weakness weighed on Rex’s body. He fell back onto the seat of his pants, let his head rest on his knees so the dizziness could ease. But his neck hurt too much to stay at that angle for long.

            _Shock?_ Fatigue and dizziness were symptoms of shock. Rex stared at his bloody, mud-streaked pants, shivered and folded his arms tightly, though the air wasn’t cold.

            He’d thought about burying the bodies. He’d already put up a tent and moved Cody and Snapper inside it to get away from the blood and corpses that would soon be attracting animals. But burying all three would take too much energy. Rex had tried to start, with an improvised shovel, and hit a thick network of roots right away.

            To block out the sight of Fort’s body, he moved to put his hands over his eyes but stopped; both hands were caked in mud. A persistent skittering sound came from the jungle around him.

            The weight pressed down on him again. The open eyes. _Cody and Snapper could already be dead too_. Rex lurched to his feet, skin buzzing, and rushed back the way he’d come, toward the tent on the other side of the dark, gaping wreck.

            As he broke from the treeline and came into view, nothing seemed amiss at first. But as he came closer to the open tent, he saw them: a swarm of what looked like small birds plucking at Cody’s open shirt, his hair—he wasn’t moving or making any noise.

            “GET OFF HIM!” Rex roared, grabbing the rifle he’d left near the tent, and the birds—no, lizards—scattered in all directions as Rex let off two warning shots in brilliant bursts of light. Rex rushed inside the tent and dropped the rifle. He knelt by Cody, touched his chest to see if it rose or fell. When it did, he checked Snapper too. It took a long moment for him to convince himself that Snapper was alive. He stared at a nearby scorched root, seared through by his blaster bolt, and barely remembered pulling the trigger. How had Cody and Snapper slept through that?

            _Go see if the comm system is salvageable._ Rex heard the command from the rational part of his mind, and moved to obey. But his body didn’t.

            Rex shifted his gaze back to Snapper. He tried to force himself to get up and check on him at least.

            _Get up_. _The men need you._

            Rex turned his head to look at Cody and put his muddy hand back on his chest. The emergency blanket crinkled under his touch. The world tilted and Rex collapsed onto one elbow, onto his side. He just needed to rest for a second. Just a second, and then he would get up and keep going.

…

            When Rex opened his eyes again, it was still light. The feather-lizards stood in the mud near the tent, watching them, but none approached. He didn’t know what time it was, but his neck and the shoulder he’d slept on were full of icy fire when he tried to sit up, tight and hard as grappling cables. Cody was still breathing, some of the residual blood dried into his hair and flaking off his swollen cheek. The bacta patch he’d put on earlier seemed to have sealed well to his skin. Rex turned to check Snapper.

            The other cadet was still on his back, and the minute Rex touched his neck he knew something was wrong. The skin felt cool and strange, and Snapper’s jaw and neck were stiff. Rex tried to lift Snapper’s hand from the floor. No pulse.

            “No,” he said, as if chastising him. A shock went through Rex like a live wire, exploding out through his spine into tiny points all over his skin. “Snapper.” The body was already rigid. “No!”

            Rex pushed himself away, staggered to his feet and out of the tent, kicking at a nearby piece of scrap metal.

            He dug his hands into his hair; dried mud flaked off and caught in his eyelashes. He’d fallen asleep. He’d neglected his squadmate. A scream of anger and denial pressed silently against his teeth.

            “…ex?”

            Rex looked over toward the tent. Moved closer so he could see Cody, who was squinting at him blearily.

            “Rex,” Cody tried again. “What…s… wrong…?”

            Rex stared at him. “What’s _wrong?_ ” he echoed.

            He took a deep, unsteady breath and tried to pull himself together, reminding himself that he’d treated what he knew of Snapper’s wounds and there were no medical scanners here, nothing he could have done that he didn’t already try. _You did what you could._ It just wasn’t enough.

            Cody blinked his one eye, the other still swollen beyond any use.

            Rex took another breath and went to Cody’s side. “How do you feel?”

            Cody just groaned quietly. Rex nodded and pressed his lips together.

            “I’ll get you some water. But then I have to go… take care of… some things.”

            Cody said nothing to that, so Rex patted his chest lightly and hesitated a moment before turning away, a part of him certain that Cody’s death was inevitable. _I’m going to lose him too._

            _No I’m not_ , Rex told himself as he went outside and headed purposefully toward the crate full of water packs. _Not yet._ Even in his head it sounded like an empty promise.

            Coming back with water and rations in hand, he again braced himself to find Cody dead, but Cody lifted a hand slightly before Rex had even reached his side. Rex opened a water pack and carefully put his hand beneath Cody’s head to raise it up before pressing the pouch to his lips. Cody drank, stopping a few times to cough and snarl at the pain of doing so.

            “Careful,” Rex told him, and Cody sighed. “Go on, you have to drink as much as you can. You’ve lost a lot of fluids.”

            Cody tried to drink more, but eventually stopped and clamped his mouth shut until Rex pressed half a ration stick against his lips.

            “Eat it,” Rex commanded. “You won’t heal if you’re starving.”

            Cody opened his mouth and chewed weakly while Rex watched.

            “Thanks,” Cody managed to say after he swallowed the last bit. He sounded exhausted. “I feel terrible.”

            “You look terrible,” Rex said, more sadly and less jokingly than he’d meant to.

            Cody just closed his eye. Rex watched his chest rise and fall a few times before pushing some rations between his own teeth and forcing down some water. The sounds of his own chewing were a welcome relief from the loud thoughts in his own mind.

            “Is Snapper still alive?” Cody mumbled.

            “No. I need to move his body,” Rex said immediately, although the thought made him want to lie down and shut his eyes too more than anything. He got to his feet. Once he got all of them out of sight, he promised himself, he could rest. He looped his arms around Snapper’s chest and dragged him backward out of the tent, wondering if any of the rations he’d just swallowed would stay in his stomach for long.

…

            By the time Rex managed to maneuver 588 and Hopper out of the wreckage, he was drenched in sweat, and his heart was pounding in his head. He let Hopper’s body fall from his back and join the other three he’d dragged to this spot; night was falling, and Rex could no longer stand.

            He was on his knees still, staring at the four corpses laid haphazardly together, when darkness settled fully, thick and impenetrable around him. The air seemed to thicken too in his throat, and he found himself breathing unevenly, jaw aching in the effort of holding himself together.

            It was so quiet. The night air was like a damp hand on the back of his neck. Only the occasional throaty croak of a night creature made him jump, wondering if it was a human sound.

            Rex had lost brothers before. But it was so sterile on Kamino… their bodies were whisked away somewhere, dealt with and forgotten… a complete disappearance, nothing so tangible left behind.

            Around him, the darkness of the jungle began to rearrange itself into a battlefield, a future battlefield he’d tried to visualize so many times during training. But the droids were gone, and he was still here, brothers’ bodies stretching out in front of him. Countless bodies, to recognize, to carry, to abandon, to try to forget the way they looked as corpses—just bodies, wearing the faces of friends he’d never see again. In his mind, they were all there in that place, just waiting. The bodies of every brother he knew, waiting to become _this._

It took Rex a moment to realize that he’d closed his eyes. Moisture and warmth gathered where his jaw met his neck, maybe sweat, maybe not. The thought of lying down on the jungle floor seemed natural, and Rex imagined himself resting there, just for a moment. He planted his hands on the soil in front of him, and pushed himself to stand. His entire body ached.

            Somehow, he found his way back to the camp in the dark, the tangled undergrowth giving way to the open muddy gash of the crash site. Then at last he half-crawled through the tent flap, back to Cody’s side in the darkness, quaking so much that it was difficult to trust that the movement of Cody’s chest was not actually an extension of his own.

            “Cody?” Rex collapsed again, curled beside him. 

            Cody breathed out a sound through his nose, almost a whine.

            Rex closed his eyes and let out a hacking breath of relief, the smell of mud filling his nose as he held his own face between his arms.

…

            Rex crouched in the cockpit, surrounded by Hopper’s dried blood. Insects were everywhere, buzzing and whining, but at least the body was gone now.

            Over his nose and mouth he’d tied a muddy shred of his sleeve to block out some of the smell. His eyes still watered as he placed the last repaired plug into its proper port and dialed the frequency.

            “This is a distress call from Cadet Transport Seven-Seven-Nine. This is a distress call from Cadet Transport Seven-Seven-Nine. Is anybody out there? We are two survivors, CT-Seven-Five-Six-Seven and CT-Two-Two-Two-Four. In need of medical assistance. Repeat. This is a distress call from Cadet Transport Seven-Seven-Nine….”

            Rex paused for twenty seconds before he tried the message again. A third time, a fourth… he kept going, up to ten, twelve. With each silence he imagined a quiet beeping in an office on Kamino, or a silence there as well—maybe the transmitter was still broken after all, or not sufficiently powerful, the message degrading as soon as it left the planet. 

            After the fifteenth try, Rex stopped. There were other things he needed to be doing if they were going to survive. He stood and left the infested cockpit, carefully crossing the still-bloodstained interior before hurrying back to the tent.

            “So?” Cody asked, when Rex knelt beside him. The left side of his face was practically iridescent, all purple and green, more colorful every time Rex looked. But it was no longer as swollen as it once was.

            Bruising, but no clear sign of infection so far.

            “So… did you fix it?” Cody prompted again when Rex failed to do anything but stare.

            “Yeah,” Rex said.

            “And? How long are we waiting?”

            Rex inhaled slowly and pulled the cloth on his face down to his neck. “No reply.”

            “WH-” Cody started coughing, and Rex kept an eye out for blood, but there was none. “What? Well, try again, I’m sure—”

            “I will, later. I already tried at least a dozen times,” Rex heard himself say calmly. “If the transmitter’s still broken, I’ll find a way to fix it.” A gut feeling told him it wasn’t the transmitter that was the issue. Their trainers simply weren’t accepting transmissions during this sort of survival mission.

            “And what if you can’t?” Cody asked.

            “Master Chief will check on us once we’ve been here for seven to nine rotations. It’ll be fine. We can make it until then.”

            “Oh, easy for you to say!” Cody growled against the pain, eye screwed shut.

            Rex stood up and waited, until Cody opened his eye again and met his flat stare. Neither of them said anything for a moment.

            “Sorry,” Cody said softly after a moment. “I didn’t mean that. I just….”

            Rex offered a hand. “Let’s get you cleaned up. There’s a river nearby that seems relatively safe.”

            “I don’t know if—” Cody began, then bit it down and grabbed Rex’s hand. Rex stepped down to brace an arm against Cody’s back and help him to his feet.

            “That’s it,” Rex said sternly. “Come on. I’m sure you have some business to take care of too.”

            Cody breathed out in what might have been a weak laugh. “Yeah… guess so.”

            Long minutes later Cody was sitting up to his chest on a rock near the shore of a slow-moving river, looking green and panting from the exertion it had taken just to get to that spot. Rex stood chest-deep in front of him, undoing the fasteners of his jacket, helping him slowly out of his clothes while Cody kept his eyes downcast, half-focused as he looked inward to fight the nausea.

            “There you go,” Rex said under his breath as he got Cody stripped down and could finally properly scrub at the blood on their clothes. “Just sit there for now. At least the water’s warm, right?”

            “Yeah,” Cody breathed. “You sure there’s nothing in here that might like the taste?”

            “If there is, it didn’t notice me this morning.”

            Cody sighed shakily and stared at the surface of the water, or perhaps beyond it to his knees or his hands while Rex worked, watching the blood trail away from the clothes with the current. The sight was a bitter relief.

            “Rex,” Cody said after a moment.

            “Hmm?” Rex looked up from his work. Cody was squinting at him.

            “Are you alright?”

            “What?” Rex stared back at him. “I’m not wounded. Just whiplash and bruises.”

            “I didn’t mean—I meant… how did you do all this?” Cody asked. “You repaired the transmitter… you moved all the other guys, and me, and—”

            “I had to,” Rex said, the memory of Snapper rushing over him in cold regret. “I had to do what I could.”

            Cody breathed in suddenly, blinking his undamaged eye rapidly. He swallowed. “Isn’t it… don’t you feel….”

            “I don’t know.” Rex told himself it was true, if only for the current moment. He didn’t know what he was feeling, except relief, seeing Cody sitting there, so obviously alive. And a determination to keep him that way for now.

            Cody shakily splashed some water on his chest and neck. Rex put the jacket he’d been working on over a tree branch and waded a bit closer so he could cup water in his hands and work carefully through Cody’s blood-caked hair. Red-brown rivulets ran down his cheeks, but they soon ran pink, then clear as Rex scrubbed.

            “Ow.”

            “Sorry,” Rex mumbled, and tried to rub the water in more gently. “Just figured you’d rather not make a home for flesh-eating life-forms on your head.”

            “Right,” Cody agreed wryly, then sighed and put a hand on Rex’s wrist as he dipped his hands for another cup full of water. “Thanks, Rex.”

            Rex frowned, Cody’s earnest tone resonating painfully in his hollow chest. “I….” He paused again. “Yeah, we’re gonna be fine.”

            Cody didn’t agree, just closed his eye as Rex worked another handful of water into his hair.

…

            “There you are,” Cody said, from where he lay in the tent. “What were you doing?”

            Rex stepped into the tent holding a sheet of scrap metal. On the makeshift plate, six knobby green roots sat half-blackened and steaming.

            “Dinner.” Rex set the plate down in the middle of the tent—it wasn’t hot. He’d transferred the roots off the metal he’d cooked them on. They were too hard to bite into raw.

            “We’re out of field rations, then.” The emergency blanket crinkled as Cody sat up slowly; Rex could see in his eyes that his head still swam whenever he moved.

            “Yeah.” They weren’t given that many to begin with, and even after losing the rest of their squad, relying on the rations solely had quickly depleted them. “We’ve got enough water to last until tomorrow morning… after that we’ll have to sterilize the river water.”

            “Great,” Cody sighed, and picked up a root with a dubious expression made even more lopsided by his swollen face. He bit into the smaller end and chewed slowly. “Hmm.”

            Rex bit into his also. The taste was… definitely sharp in a green sort of way, but at least he could chew it now.

            For a moment they ate in silence. Outside, a swirling drizzle of fine drops began. The bulk of their clothes were hanging from nearby branches outside the tent, but they’d already been wet to begin with from the dip in the river.

            “Of course it’s raining,” Cody grumbled, between small bites.

            “Just pretend we’re back on Kamino,” Rex suggested.

            “Well… if we were back on Kamino, I’d be in a bacta tank right now.”

            Rex didn’t let his mind get caught up in useless wishes. “I know… this isn’t an ideal situation. But the important thing is, we _are_ going to survive.”

            The rain intensified and drummed on the tent, filling the resulting silence.

            “This is… different,” Cody finally said, between bites of the root. “How long did it take you to find these?”

            “A few hours. They’re a little hard to dig out and a lot of the easier ones were rotten already. At least they cook up pretty fast.”

            Cody made a disgusted noise. “You’re probably expending more energy finding these things than you’ll get by eating ‘em.”

            “Not as much as you’re expending by complaining about it,” Rex teased. It was easy to say now that he could actually sit down and eat. But out there knee-deep in mud, trying to yank the stubborn roots out of the sucking clay, there had been moments when he’d felt the same sense of futility.

            “Rex, I’m serious.” The bantering tone vanished, and Cody’s shoulders hunched, his voice growing a little thick. “If I’m starving, you must be even worse—you’ve been actually _doing_ things. This isn’t fair to you. This was supposed to be a routine endurance mission, one where we could all help each other out.”

            Rex’s chewing sounded loud to his own ears. He swallowed.

            “Maybe it’s not fair. But let’s try to stay positive. This just means it’s more realistic.” Rex focused on his tuber.

            _Realistically_ … Cody could die any time. That thought, that certainty had clung to him with every step he’d taken today. No matter how close any brother got to him—Rex knew now, the images imprinted on his eyelids—they would just be bodies sooner or later.

            “Oh, so you’re expecting me to be the dead weight in the future too,” Cody joked. “I see how it is.”

            “No,” Rex said, trying to keep his voice light despite Cody’s uncanny choice of words. He could see what Cody was doing. His concern, his honesty… like an arm around the shoulders, pulling him in. He wanted to let it touch him, but it all felt far away. “But at least, after surviving this… I’ll be more prepared for a real disaster on a real battlefield.”

            He stared at an empty corner of the tent, finished off the rest of his first root and took a bite out of the second before he let himself look up again.

            Cody sighed and grimaced at him comically. “Just be careful. You’re not the only future commander here right now, just the only useful one. If _you_ work yourself too hard, what happens then?”

            Rex shook his head, although the movement was still painful. “You don’t need to worry about me, Cody. I’m okay, and we’re not in any real danger for now.” He’d told himself that so many times that day, even when Cody had struggled to sit up that morning, and had vomited on the way to the pit Rex had dug for a latrine… even when Rex’s muscles ached and he still felt shaky and weak when he passed the ship wreckage. Yes, for now, Cody would probably live. But….

            “Just don’t get carried away thinking this is your big chance to show me up.” Cody teased. “I guess it’s true. In the unlikely event that I survive this, you do get the better reputation for doing _everything_.”

            Rex forced a faint smile and took another bite, chewing slowly, not sure what to say. Normally, Cody’s teasing helped, even if it didn’t make him laugh. But although they sat within a meter of each other, Rex felt as if he were watching and listening from another room.

            Cody’s smile slowly faded. “You look tired.”

            “Yeah,” Rex admitted, once his throat was clear. That, at least, he knew for sure. “We’d better finish this.”

            For the next couple of minutes, they ate in silence, until the tubers were gone. In his mind, thoughts bled into one another, too unformed for words.

            Rex pulled the emergency blanket straight and lay down under it, and Cody followed suit. They faced each other, two crinkling masses, and Rex hoped they would both fall asleep quickly.

            “Sorry,” Cody said.

            “For what?” They both spoke quietly over the rain. Rex couldn’t see Cody’s expression now; the light had faded so much.

            “Guess I’m not very funny tonight.” Cody’s voice sounded like he was grimacing.

            Rex shut his eyes and didn’t move.

            “I’d be dead without you,” Cody whispered tightly. “I was only joking around because I didn’t want to think about how much my head hurts.”

            “I know,” Rex said softly, and automatically put a hand on Cody’s shoulder to reassure him. The gesture felt preprogrammed and empty. “It’s good to hear you talking again.”

            “If we get out of here… _when_ , we get out of here…” Cody began.

            “You’ll get your bacta soak,” Rex said. “And all the foodboards you can stuff in your mouth.”

            Cody laughed for a split second and groaned. “That’s not what I was gonna say.”

            Rex sighed, trying to remember how many painkillers they had left.

            “I _am_ going to tell Master Chief everything you did here,” Cody went on. “Even if I don’t graduate, I’ll say everything I can to make sure—”

            “You don’t have to do that,” Rex broke in. He was already there in that black, clouded sky after all. Suddenly, graduation, the real battlefield they’d been training for, seemed too close. “If I become a commander, it should be on my own merits, not floating along on the good word of anyone else.”

            “It’s not _floating along_ ,” Cody argued. “And I’m the one relying on _you._ We rely on _each other_. To get through this, and to get through the war. I just want to make sure Os Tala knows that you’re someone anyone can rely on.”

            After a long silence, Cody added in an undertone, “Something’s bothering you. Why don’t you tell me what’s on your mind? I know I’m not good for much right now, but you could at least rely on me to listen.”

            _Who can a clone rely on?_ Rex thought. Only himself. And in a way that was what the Kaminoans had been trying to teach them all their lives. Yes, they relied on each other; they had to, to survive. But that could only go so far before it became a weakness. The future he and Cody had been working toward with such passion seemed empty now.

            “What, you don’t trust me?” Cody cleared his throat. “You think I just say anything that comes into my head, no matter who’s listening?”

            “No….” Rex frowned into the darkness.

            “It’s not just anyone listening to me, Rex, it’s you. I trust you.”

            “I know.” A chill washed over Rex’s skin and was gone. Too late, he said, “I trust you too.”

            Cody sighed. “Maybe now’s not the time. But all I’m saying is… sometimes you could say more than you do. You don’t have to take everything on by yourself. I want to pull my weight.”

            “You’re injured,” Rex stated.

            “I know. You cleaned me up. And you’ve watched every other brother we left with die. So….”

            Rex pushed back wearily against the images, the weight of those bodies on his chest.

            Silence. Cody shifted a little beside him; the blanket crinkled. Rex rolled onto his back, staring up into the darkness.

            The rain drummed, louder and faster, a static that drowned out thought. It was so dark Rex could barely see his hand in front of his face when he lifted it—the rustle of the blanket blended in with the rain.

            And he couldn’t hear Cody breathing, or moving. As the awkward minutes slid by, he imagined again the body beside him going still and rigid.

            Rex reached hesitantly, shifted back onto his side to check the rise and fall of Cody’s chest. But Cody’s hand closed on his arm first.

            “Rex.” A low murmur. “I’m scared too. You’d be crazy if you weren’t.”

            Rex wasn’t sure if scared was the word. There was no adrenaline, giving him strength to act. He just felt empty, drained. Resigned.

            “You’re not crazy, are you?” Cody whispered.

            Rex thought about rolling over so his back was to Cody. But instead, he let himself breathe out. “No.”

            “It’s gonna be okay.” Cody squeezed his arm a little, pulling him closer so that their heads barely touched for a moment.

            Did Cody really believe that? Rex wondered, the emptiness in him gathering a fresh ache around the edges. Had Cody not thought ahead to the inevitable day when one of them would die? Most likely he had, but, like Rex, he hadn’t fully realized the weight of it.

            Or maybe he had already made peace with it. Cody made friends easily—the loss of one close brother would no doubt hurt him, but then he would move on, more friends, more brothers, jumping into their lives with that foolhardy ease and bonding again and again for as long as he lived.

            But in Rex’s mind, the time before Cody was… different. He knew his brothers, he worked with them. They were family in that sense. It had been enough, he’d thought, before Cody had drawn him in, broken the barrier. It should have always _been_ enough.

            Cody’s hand stayed on his shoulder, a warm reminder of something, a sense of meaning Rex couldn’t begin to describe in words. A dangerous sense of meaning that would surely disappear with Cody someday.

But what was more meaningful than fighting to protect _thousands_ of brothers rather than one? To protect the Republic? Fighting to make history?

            _That_ is _enough,_ Rex told himself firmly. This ache would turn to action if he could just remember that. _It has to be enough._


	2. Chapter 2

            When Rex opened his eyes to the blank grey light of the tent, he listened, and took stock of his body. The rain was gone, the chirping of the feather-lizards a barely noticeable background chorus, and the bruised feeling in his chest and throat didn’t ease up when he shifted onto his back. The empty mess of Cody’s blanket caught his eye.

            Rex threw himself upright, staring at the spot. “Cody?” he breathed out, the nervous rush subsiding when he realized that there was no sign of a struggle.

            Quickly, he pulled on his boots and left the tent, squinting against the unexpected sunlight peeking through the cloud cover and glinting off the many puddles. Cody was at the edge of the trees, returning from the latrine.

            In the seconds before Cody noticed him, Rex watched, filing away signs of Cody’s improvement: he was walking on his own, but slowly, pausing for a second or two every few steps.

            “Rex!” Cody took a few quicker steps when he saw him, but slowed again after that.

            “I didn’t hear you get up,” Rex said.

            Cody’s voice sounded bright but forced. “Well, I thought you might need the rest.” His face was massively bruised, even his good eye narrowed in pain.

            “I guess that means you’re healing up a bit,” Rex noted. But the sense of relief was dim. “Just be careful. I don’t want to find you passed out in the mud.”

            “I’m being careful,” Cody reassured him with a gentling movement of one hand. He looked awful, despite his weakly optimistic tone. “I’ll rest again after this, but I had to go, and I was pretty confident I could do it on my own this time. Besides, you never know when it might start raining again.”

            Rex glanced up at the sky; the sun was already hidden again. As fast as the clouds were moving, he was glad for the windbreak of the trees. He tried to refocus on the tasks of survival for today. “I’ve got to go set some traps and see what other food I can find.”

            “Traps?” Cody blinked, squinting at Rex.

            “Just dug some wires out of the wreckage… I figured they’re not useful for much else now.”

            “I thought you said there wasn’t much big enough to bother hunting, here.” Cody’s mouth twitched.

            “Well, I’ll take whatever we can get. We’ve got blasters, may as well use ‘em.”

            “Is there anything I can do?” Cody asked.

            “You can rest.” Rex frowned.

            “I meant something I can do while resting. Isn’t there… I dunno, a fire to tend or something? How were you cooking those tubers anyway?” Cody looked around for evidence of a cooking fire.

            Rex sighed, pulling from his pocket a small, sharp bit of metal he’d salvaged and been using to cut wires free. “Not unless you want to use this to continue trying to shave enough dry kindling from the inside of sticks to start a regular fire, once the ship’s fuel and battery run out. But I don’t think we can keep a fire going in these conditions anyway, even if we do find dry fuel.”

            “You rigged up a way to cook our food inside _that_ mess?” Cody’s mouth twisted in an almost-grin as he glanced toward the ship incredulous. “Well, maybe I won’t bother shaving kindling, but I wish I could shave something else,” he mumbled, rubbing his chin.

            “Yeah… I wouldn’t try using this on your face.” Rex pocketed the makeshift knife.

            “Ahaha, right. So, let me guess, more tubers for lunch, meat for dinner if we get lucky?” Cody tone was light, and he gave a wistful sigh. “Maybe _I’ll_ get lucky, and feel so much better tomorrow that you can sit back all day while I treat _you_ to the finest roots the Pzob jungles have to offer.”

            Rex looked over at the jungle, trying to decide which direction to explore and set traps in. He’d rather avoid the area just downstream of where he’d left the bodies, if possible, but most animals visited bodies of water to drink. Upstream of the bodies was best, then, and close to the river.

            “Hey,” Cody’s voice broke into his thoughts.

            Rex turned his eyes back to Cody.

            “You still tired?” Cody asked.

            “No.” In any case, not tired enough to justify resting when there was work to be done.

            “You just seem distracted.”

            Distracted from what, Rex wondered. He thought back on his behavior since leaving the tent and realized that Cody was probably expecting a bit more excitement over his progress. After all, Cody had barely been able to walk the day before. For a moment, Rex felt curiously aware of how, even though his surroundings felt close by—the distant rush of wind that didn’t touch them yet, the smell of the jungle mud all around them—Cody’s mood didn’t reach him.

            Taking one step closer, Cody looked him in the eye. “You’re thinking about the other guys.”

            Rex was going to say no, but then again, he had been—thinking about their bodies, at least, lying far off in the jungle, but still too close. “Yeah,” he sighed.

            Cody echoed the sigh. “I guess Fort’s prediction turned out to be right this time. Remember when he gave you that _look_ , the second day we were training together and… what was it he said? ‘It’s always the quiet ones. I bet you’re gonna do something shocking by the time we graduate.’ And then he told me I was gonna be the one with the most injuries by the end of training.” Cody gave a ghost of a chuckle and crossed his arms self-consciously after lowering himself onto an overturned crate.

            “I think Snapper—” Rex cut himself off. He’d been about to say, _I think Snapper had you outmatched when it comes to the number of injuries_ , but the natural conclusion of that competition was one he didn’t want to reach.

            “Yeah, I lost count of how many times he pulled a muscle or sprained something.” Cody’s voice was fond but heavy. “Always on the move… and he even got _you_ to wrestle with him.

            “Couldn’t quite beat him,” Rex recalled in a dull voice. “Always expected we would have a rematch someday.”

            “I still remember the cheers from everyone in our group when you strung the other officer cadets along on that same ridiculous story you told us on Rothana after we all got back.”

            “They all swore I was too much of a ‘droid’ to tell it with a straight face twice,” Rex remembered. “And Snapper just laughed and said maybe now I was confident enough to face him.”

            “Couldn’t let that challenge slide.” Cody’s voice was quiet.

            For a moment, Rex made the mistake of letting himself get lost in that memory. The mixture of embarrassment and pride as his brothers crowed in delight at his poker face, the thrill of doing something he’d once scoffed at as a childish waste of time—hearing their cheers as he struggled to pin Snapper to the floor, and a breathless laugh escaping him because suddenly, he was a part of the group in name, not just in number.

            Maybe that had all been temporary.

            “You guys bantered for a solid minute before you even started.” Cody was still reminiscing. “I could hardly believe it. You were having so much _fun_.”

            The bruised feeling in Rex’s chest expanded quickly, spread through his spine, his jaw, his temples. Suddenly the sounds and feelings of that day on Kamino were sharp around the edges, the exultant looks on his brothers’ faces like a bitter taste in the back of his throat. He had let himself step into a world that would never last, and tricked himself into believing it would always be home.

            “We’ll have to tell Quickdraw when we get back.” Cody’s low voice broke in.

“I’ll do it,” Rex said, not meaning to whisper, but his voice didn’t come out right.

            “It wasn’t your fault, you know.”

            Rex lifted his head. Cody was looking at him seriously. “I know. Five-Eighty-Eight was already dead when I got to him.”

            “You just looked… angry for a minute, I guess.” Cody frowned. “You’ve already done more than most cadets could manage on their own.”

            Rex tried to change expression, wondering what his face looked like right now.

            “For example, rigging up what’s left of the ship’s electrical systems instead of trying to build a fire? That’s a great idea.”

            “Just common sense,” Rex shrugged. Even if it might not last forever, it should get them through however long it took Kamino to contact them.

            “Oh, he’s intelligent _and_ humble.” Cody folded his arms and twitched his mouth.

            A warm pain filled Rex’s throat, like a mild electrical burn. He had to look away from Cody’s face. “I’d better get a move on finding more food.”

            “Hey,” Cody said, grabbing his arm lightly before he could step away. “I mean it.”

            “I believe you,” Rex said.

            “You be careful too.”

            “I will.” He let himself take a good look at Cody’s intent, squinting eye, and patted his shoulder twice before he turned away and grabbed the blaster from just inside the tent. Temporary as the pressure of Cody’s hand on his arm; that was the truth of whatever it was he’d discovered through Cody by now. That spreading, open, sustaining feeling of truly being seen and known… it had never been meant for him to keep. The burning spread up from his throat into his cheekbones, and the light dimmed by half when he stepped under the trees.

…

            It had been a mixed sort of a day, frustrating but productive enough in the end. Less preoccupied with Cody, Rex had set his traps and laid in wait near the water about a kilometer off from them, lying under a bush for hours hoping that the creature who’d left fresh-looking tracks would be back this way soon. After what felt like hours had passed, Rex moved on to dig up some more tubers, and when he went back to check the traps, some kind of small but stout hoglike creature had taken the bait of the tubers he’d left there. Rex quickly silenced the creature’s shrill squawks and hauled it back to the wreckage.

            They’d gone to bed early after a quiet dinner with only a small serving of the meat, just in case. It tasted fine and had smelled fine during its preparation, apart from the all-too-familiar scent of blood. Now, in the late morning of the next day, Rex came back into the tent with some freshly sterilized water in packets, surprised to see Cody still sleeping.

            “Cody,” Rex prompted as he knelt down next to him. “You haven’t had anything to drink since yesterday afternoon.”

            Cody didn’t move other than the rise and fall of his chest, and a twitching of the closed, swollen eyelid near the bacta patch.

            “Cody,” Rex called, touching the better half of his forehead gingerly. “Wake up.”

            Cody groaned. His forehead was slick with sweat, and felt warm even though Rex’s fingers had already been warm from handling the tubers. Alarm flitting across the surface of his mind, Rex laid his palm, his wrist, and then the back of his hand against Cody’s temple.

            “Do you have a fever?” Rex’s voice almost sounded accusing to his own ears. “Cody, wake up!”

            A soft breath of a groan left Cody’s throat, and his good eye opened barely a slit before he closed it again.

            “You have to say something,” Rex directed, holding himself still on the threshold of fear. Cody had been improving—maybe he was just tired. But half a minute passed with no response. “Come on. Anything!”

            Cody’s mouth opened, and Rex noticed Cody’s irregular breathing as he gulped and his lips struggled to form words. “I’m….dizzy….”

            Hopper had said the same thing. Rex took a sharp breath and refocused.

            Carefully, he leaned over Cody’s head. The bruising was still there, shiny and colorful, but a red inflamed area had spread out from under the bacta patch that felt hot to the touch. Stomach hardening in anticipation, Rex carefully pulled up the edges of the dressing to look at Cody’s wound. There were no abscesses, no noticeable drainage… by all appearances, the stitches seemed to be doing their job.

            Rex pulled the patch off all the way and fetched another from the medkit in the corner of the tent, reviewing what he’d learned in basic field medicine. Abscesses were noticeable… and some infections were truly grisly to look at. But hadn’t there been some fleeting mention of another type of infection, deadly but easy to overlook?

            Infections could lead to sepsis: fever, rapid heart rate, dizziness, confusion. That was two out of four symptoms already. Rex put the fresh bacta patch on, took a deep breath against the feverish feeling spreading in his own nerves, and moved to kneel behind Cody’s head, pulling his head and shoulders up onto his legs.

            “You might just be dehydrated. Here, drink something.” Rex carefully positioned the water pack at Cody’s lips, and Cody drank, weakly. For a few seconds, Rex watched him, listened to him breathing through his nose, but then Cody stopped trying, and breathed through his mouth. “Go on, that wasn’t enough,” Rex urged.

            Cody tried again, but again he stopped, a little water spilling on his chest, and Rex repositioned it in his mouth, squeezed the water pack just slightly—Cody coughed and groaned, taking ragged breaths.

            “Sorry,” Rex said immediately. “I was trying to help.”

            Cody’s coughing gradually petered off, but his breathing remained too rapid. Rex put two fingers to Cody’s neck and felt his pulse: it was faster than normal, especially for at-rest. Three out of four.

            “Cody, which direction is the river?” Rex asked.

            No reply, just breathing—shallow, pained breathing and eyes screwed shut. The shadow of stubble on Cody’s face made the sickly paleness even starker.

            “Cody,” Rex said in a patient, insistent voice. “I know you’re in pain. But I _need_ you to focus, and tell me which way the river is.”

            Cody just lay there. Rex had the distinct feeling that Cody could hear him, but couldn’t summon the energy to even speak.

            “Cody,” said Rex, softly pleading.

            At last Cody gave a weak, faint groan. “W… river…?”

            “Nevermind.” Maybe Cody hadn’t been paying attention when Rex had brought him there. “Tell me how many of us there were, before the ship crashed.”

            “How many…?” Cody breathed. Rex had never heard him speak so slowly. “I thought… twelve… twelve in our training group…? Six, if we’re in two teams….”

            Confusion. That was four out of four.

            Rex sat for just a moment, trying to persuade himself that he was wrong. It was just normal swelling and dehydration. If Cody would just drink….

            He tried one more time, pressing the water pack up against Cody’s open mouth. Cody took two sips and turned his head weakly aside.

            “I’m going to give you an antibiotic,” Rex said. He put his hands beneath Cody’s arms to lift him up off his lap, and Cody took a quick breath.

            “Rex,” he said tightly.

            “What?” Rex paused mid-lift.

            “I…” Cody struggled to open his eye again. The fabric of his shirt, under Rex’s fingers, was soaked through with sweat, and he was shivering. “Maybe… you should… just… take care of yourself.”

            “What?” It came out hushed. Rex stared down at him. “What do you….”

            “I have this… feeling,” Cody gulped, voice barely above a whisper’s strength. His eyelid squeezed shut again. “I don’t think… it’ll help.”

            Rex stared at Cody’s swollen cheek, a sensation like poison spreading, knotting up his stomach, his lungs. Just as soon as the furious explosion forced his mouth open, ready to yell a retort or cry out a question, it died, collapsing in on itself like a sinkhole, dragging everything inside him toward it, and it was all Rex could do to ease Cody off his legs and stumble blindly out of the tent, away from the body, the brother who would soon be another corpse to move.

…

            There was just enough light that when he leaned over the water, Rex could see a reflection of his own silhouette. But he didn’t want to. Instead he sat with his back pressed as hard as he could against a tree, arms wrapped around his stomach to try and steady his breathing.

            His own limbs felt heavy and cold even though it was muggy here under the trees. He knew that behind him, Cody was in the tent, the infection slowly killing him.

            Dying. _It’s already happening_ , Rex told himself, all his skin and bones aching as if he were infected too. He should have known. Cody’s listless, empty voice repeated in his head like a nightmare. If _Cody_ was giving up, there truly was no hope of saving him. He was already gone.

            A familiar, childish voice rose up inside him, shouting NO, as if that could change anything. A voice bent on naive heroics, and the belief that sheer will alone could prevent the most likely end. His mind was running down a list of what he could try to do—he could give the antibiotics, he could boil compresses, he could call for help again—but even if he could do all that, gather enough food _and_ tend Cody closely, continually until help arrived… if Cody had given up, that effort would be useless. A waste of precious energy and time.

            Rex stared at his muddy knees, feeling sick with—anger? Fear? He listened to his own rough breathing— _see, I knew it._ He’d braced himself, he’d imagined Cody’s breathing stopping over and over, the stillness of his body, and yet now it came down to it being real, and still the future closed on him like a collapsing building. Cody, nothing more than a memory. Rex shut his eyes against the dull glint of light on the river, the mockingly peaceful reptilian chirping. Cody, an expression, a gait, a tone of voice he’d always be looking for and never experience again.

            In the memory of Snapper, the wrestling and the laughter, there was Cody, the brother he’d most wanted to surprise by doing something different. There was Cody, giving him a name, making sure it stuck, sticking with him and arguing with him and infuriating him and making him laugh, bringing out something the others began to notice. They were his friends, yes, but without Cody they might never have seen enough to call him that. He might have continued, his only goal to be the perfect soldier, protecting himself from _this._

            Against the solid rock that seemed to have appeared in his throat, Rex swallowed and tried to accept what was happening with some kind of dignity. He was alone, yes, but he would survive. The first step would be to move the body—the body, not Cody. _Just a body_ —and then everything would be the same as it had been before.

            Set traps, secure secondary fuel, gather food and water. Wait.

            Wait. Wait for Cody to die? How long would the infection take to kill him…?

            There was something the Kaminoans often preached to command cadets when considering strategies and battle plans: try to think ahead in detail, and you’re more likely to anticipate the moment-to-moment choices you must make. What they didn’t often say was the part that Rex had always found most valuable: if he could visualize it with enough clarity, he could train himself against whatever fear or other emotional reaction might disrupt his aim.

            He couldn’t stay out here forever. Soon, he would have to return to the tent. With a deep breath, Rex visualized himself getting up, walking through the mud, lifting the tent flap, and seeing Cody there on the ground, listless but breathing. He imagined kneeling again by Cody’s head, making note of the deep pain evident in Cody’s drawn, pale face and the trembling of his jaw. _Cody,_ his imagined self said calmly. _I don’t want you to suffer._

A sudden spasm made Rex’s lungs convulse—an involuntary cry of pain was barely muffled by his teeth, and he pressed his fist against his mouth on the inhale. He couldn’t remember if the medical kit had a hypo for euthanasia or not.

            He tried to move on to the next option, but found it impossible to imagine himself even picking up the blaster. Not in detail. His mind turned it into a laughably simple diagram: computer-generated clone cadet crouches, picks up the blaster, approaches the unmoving fellow cadet.

            _You were trained for this_ , Rex told himself. The words echoed in his head, seeming strangely meaningless. He heard his breath hissing, catching on the way out. He remembered the alarm he’d felt the first time he’d ever _truly_ been in pain and not been able to gulp it down. The sounds just came out of him no matter how he tried to hold them back. He’d gotten better, over the years, at maintaining his composure—a brief scream was normal, but not _this._

            And so he let one out, one scream all at once, like he’d been taught. It didn’t echo or hang over the water, but it lingered in his ears for a moment. Pain leaving the body. Then, with effort, he focused on nothing but regulating his breathing for a moment, until he’d stopped shaking so badly.

            Cody, in pain. The blaster, or a hypo if he was lucky. Pain leaving the body.

            Or, pain continuing, for both of them. Until at last Cody was ready to go join the others in the trees. Rex imagined himself sitting in that tent, day after day, just waiting for Cody to stop breathing on his own. Bile rose in his throat.

            He pushed his head back hard against the rough bark, and tried and tried to imagine himself going back to Kamino alone, reporting to them what he’d done. Their smooth, white faces told him that he’d shown appropriate judgment and resolve. He was walking the bright halls of Tipoca City, the commander he’d imagined being since he was five years old. There should have been some hope in that.

            But Cody was supposed to be there. If not beside him, then somewhere, just some place out there in the galaxy where they might meet again. Not here. _Not yet._ Not just left for dead by the brother sharing a tent with him, not left to rot into the dirt of some inconsequential world.

            Rex unfolded, pushing himself to his feet, the only thought he could stomach pounding in his skull: just as he’d rather die fighting, he’d rather fail while trying. “Foolish” or “unlikely” had nothing to do with it— _I have to keep Cody alive, so I will._ There was no other course of action he could visualize.

            As he headed back, plans were already crystallizing in his mind for treating Cody, falling into place in an orderly schedule—his feet moved faster, breaking into a run, and even though he knew the odds were slim, as he headed for the tent, the pain eased just a little.

            Cody was as he’d left him, eyes closed, barely moving. Rex dropped to his knees by the med kit—there was no hypo for euthanasia—and loaded one up with antibiotics. As he discharged it, Cody barely flinched, and Rex wondered if he was awake enough to wonder what decision Rex had made. Maybe he didn’t care.

            “Sorry, Cody,” Rex whispered, gently pushing Cody’s sweaty hair back with one hand. “I’m the closest thing to an officer here, so you’ll just have to hang on a little longer. Those are my orders.”

            The crease between Cody’s eyebrows deepened, but he didn’t say a word. Rex stood up and left the tent. It was time to get to work.

…

            Rex crouched awkwardly over the burner he’d rigged in the cockpit from a cannibalized control panel, breathing with relief as once more the stripped wires turned gold with heat. His makeshift pot sat on top of the heated metal as he poured water inside, just enough to submerge one of the rags he’d torn from the lining of his jacket.

            The shallow water began to boil almost immediately. Rex fished out the cloth with a stick, wrung it out a little as soon as he could touch it without severely burning his hands, and stuffed it inside a clean glove from the medkit before hurrying back into the tent.

            Cody was in worse shape than ever, trembling and possibly unconscious. Rex knelt beside him and positioned the hot glove over Cody’s wound. He held it there with one hand while he fished through the med kit for the tiny scissors and tweezers.

            If the infection wasn’t on the surface, it had to be drawn out. At this point, so many close stitches were doing more of a favor to the infection than to Cody. He had to give the wound a place to drain when the time came. Rex shifted the compress up a bit, and carefully pulled up on one of the knots with the tweezers before snipping. Slowly, the thread eased out of the flesh, and he went for the next. A small noise came from the back of Cody’s throat, but his eye didn’t open.

            When a number of stitches were gone on each wound, Rex put the compress back in place and secured it with a length of gauze. It was already cooling, so he got up and went back outside with another glove to fill. 

            The day passed in a circuit of chores: replace the compresses, check traps, cook whatever he gathered, offer Cody water and food, repeat. All Rex managed to get Cody to swallow was a thin mixture of mashed tubers and water, the equivalent of a few spoonfuls every hour, but at least it was something.

            In a break in the constant cycle, while Rex chewed his own meal, he kept a hand on Cody’s chest.

            It started raining in earnest again later as Rex ventured into the trees, digging up roots which turned out once again to be rotten. Already soaked from back to front, he stood up and let the fat drops spray his hands clean. His stomach already ached and his hands felt rubbed raw. It would be dark soon.

            Rex pulled his blaster from the mud, water dripping in a steady stream from his chin, fingertips, and the improvised shovel he held in his other hand. Waves of rain washed over him, visible sheets striking the ground. _Just_ _pretend we’re on Kamino._ He tried not to think about bodies left exposed to the elements, just following his internal compass back to the tent.

…

            Was it the first night or the second night since Cody’s infection? Rex felt like he’d been awake for a week. He shifted where he knelt beside Cody; all he could see in the dark were dim silhouettes. A roar like static came from the warm, damp air around them, the walls of the tent quivering in the wind, sagging under an endless barrage of water.

            It was warm, so at least his own soaked clothes weren’t chilling him, but with the tent flap closed all the way, the air was so thick he could barely breathe. With it open even just a crack for air, as it was now, half the tent was wet—their sleeping area and supplies were crowded together on the opposite side from the door.

            Rex rubbed at his face, trying to force his eyes to stay open. His other hand stayed resting against Cody’s sweaty neck, feeling the pulse that was still a bit too fast. The rushing buzz of the rain on the tent seemed mirrored as a dull blurring of his nerve endings, fatigue as thick as the air. He took another long sip of water—the refilled water pack collapsed in his hand, spent, and he tossed it away, feeling for the one he’d set aside for Cody. It was still there by his right leg, which was starting to fall asleep.

            If he lay down, he might not wake up for hours and miss any window where Cody woke and could take another sip of water, another bite of food. If he slept for hours, the compresses would cool for too long, and Cody’s immune system might lose whatever progress it had made in walling off the infection, and let it spread….

            Rex’s head jerked up and he caught himself against the floor, rubbed his knuckles against his forehead with a groan. How long had he shut his eyes? The rain had stopped. The silence was like a ringing in his ears.

            “Come on, Rex,” Rex told himself under his breath. “You can do this.”

            His back ached from hunching over Cody at this angle.

            “Can’t lie down,” Rex ordered. The sound of his own voice might bring some alertness. “Not until it’s light.” The light would be enough to tell his body to wake after one REM cycle. He started to push himself up to walk off the drowsiness, but he ended up on his back with a gasp of disorientation and dizziness. The relief of lying down rushed over his muscles so powerfully that for a moment his eyes burned.

            Rex counted twenty breaths out loud, and forced himself to reposition, lying by Cody.

            “I wish you were awake,” Rex whispered, checking Cody’s pulse again. He left his hand curled there, by Cody’s neck. “Then at least I could talk to you.”

            Cody said nothing, of course. His breathing didn’t even change. Rex sighed into the darkness, the sound both comforting and lonely.

            “I guess I could… talk to you anyway,” Rex muttered, clearing his throat. He wondered, for half a moment, what his last words to Cody would end up being—the last words Cody heard, that is. “You know,” Rex said fiercely, “this _will_ make quite a story, when it’s over.”

            Even his voice was tired, and he hadn’t used it for… he couldn’t remember. Hours, at least.

            “You remember how I used to tell you… that you’d never make it as a commander, because you were overconfident, and inconsistent, and immature?” Rex pushed out a bitter laugh, shifting the backs of his fingers against the sweat-drenched hair near Cody’s neck. “That’s not true.” Rex sighed. “I’m sorry.” He reached up to feel how cool the compress had gotten. It was still warm, though only just warmer than the skin around it. “I’ll be back.”

            Like a droid he rose automatically, but staggered a little as he made it outside into the rain. The faint, ghostly glow of the heating element he’d rigged emanated from the broken cockpit, a small patchwork of gold in a black nest like the void of space. He forced himself to walk back through the dark mouth of the wreckage and into the cockpit; the cloths he’d set aside came into focus, and the pot was already half-full of rainwater that had blown in when he’d picked it up at the entrance. It took effort to stand again once he’d crouched on the slanted floor.

            It still smelled like blood and crash in here, though the rain was certainly doing its best to wash it away where it could reach. Rex headed back to the tent with the fresh compress as fast as he could, the dark prickling at the back of his neck irrational but hard to shake.

            “There,” Rex said quietly as he knelt beside Cody again and replaced the compress. As he laid it on the wound, Cody’s head moved a little in his sleep, his breathing changing for just a moment before he settled. “Hm.” Rex sat back with his hands loose in his lap, and looked toward the tent flap, wishing he could open it without getting Cody drenched too. “I know it’s not exactly cool and refreshing, but… it’s better than nothing.”

            Cody’s forehead was damp to the touch, even after Rex had wiped his hands on one of the driest cloths in the corner. His fever refused to die down.

            Rex sighed, arms resting loosely around his knees. “I tried sending out another transmission today. No response.” He paused, as if giving Cody a chance to reply. The temptation to lie down was weighing on him again, pushing him toward the floor. His head felt too heavy for his neck. “I’m not going to fall asleep,” he promised aloud. “Not yet.”

            “Rex….”

            Rex lifted his head from his arms and all but fell on top of Cody in his haste to shift position. “Cody! Here, you need water.” He propped Cody up, relieved to hear his voice, hoarse as it was.

            As Rex held the pack and listened to Cody gulp down mouthfuls, he expected it to stop after one or two, but it didn’t. It went on, the pack shrinking in his hand. As it shrank, relief grew in Rex’s chest like a long breath of fresh air.

            “Food next,” Rex insisted when Cody was done, fetching some from where it had been rolled up and stored in the corner. For a moment, he forgot the aching exhaustion dragging him toward the floor.

            “Were… you… talking to me?” Cody’s voice was faint. “I thought….”

            “Yeah.” Rex propped Cody up, scooped the mashed tuber up with his fingers and pulled Cody’s mouth open. “Here, try to eat this. You have to keep up your strength.”

Cody let him scoop a little bit into his mouth, and worked to swallow it, struggling after the first bit but managing alright with the second and third. “Rex,” he whispered, and Rex waited on the fourth scoop. “I thought… I’m dying….”

            “No,” Rex said stubbornly, self-condemnation for the possible lie rattling his ribcage when he breathed in, but he didn’t correct himself. Cody was speaking. Cody was _eating._ “Not yet.”

            “Even if… I do, though….” Cody struggled to raise an arm toward Rex’s head, and grasped his shoulder weakly instead, nearly whispering. “You are going to be… _such_ a good commander.” His voice shook.

            “Cody, don’t—”

            “I believe you,” Cody said, with something like a wet laugh too weak to take form through his shallow, hitching breathing. “When you say that. You know. I believe e…everything will work out. Even though I know….”

            “Don’t push yourself,” Rex urged, not liking the way Cody’s voice was shaking. He sounded almost delirious. The effect yanked Rex’s stomach into a knot, even as the sound of Cody’s voice pulled at him, trying to ease him back into that reality where this last loss would always be forestalled.

            “Just… become the… the commander I know you are. Show them.” Cody’s voice was pleading in its own right. “You’re always… like this, Rex.” Cody’s hand was grasping for purchase near Rex’s neck now. “You believe… and it all works. I wish… wish I could….” He inhaled sharply, as if speaking hurt.

            “Don’t _say_ that,” Rex cried, surprised by the desperation in his own voice. He grabbed Cody’s arm but didn’t push it away. “‘ _I wish.’_ You _can!_ Don’t you _ever_ give up on life! You can’t just roll over and die when there’s… so much—” He nearly stopped himself, but if ever was there a time not to hold back, it was now. “There so much life in you,” Rex lowered his voice. “There’s so much you can do to affect the galaxy.”

            “Me?” Cody’s voice was soft, surprised. “I’m just another clone….”

            “You’re not,” Rex said fervently, feeling as he said it the rush of admiration and respect that had lain quietly in the background, building up over these years of training. “You’re a commander in your blood. It’s who you are. It’s….”

            “We’re the same,” Cody half-whispered. “You’re the one who—”

            “ _No_ ,” Rex insisted. “No… Cody, you… you’ve always been the one who can inspire your brothers. You have that… you don’t even have to try. And you dare to do things that—”

            “It’s—you’re—that…. You never doubt. You never….”

            Rex couldn’t clearly see his expression, could only listen for the subtle changes in his voice, feel the tentative grasp of his hand on his neck.

            “Take some more food,” Rex murmured. “Then I’ll let you argue with me as much as you want.”

            Cody didn’t say anything. His hand left Rex’s neck, drifting back to settle on his stomach. Rex fed him a little more food, felt his throat gently to make sure he swallowed.

            “It’s a good sign you’re talking this much,” Rex said. “You must be feeling a little better.” Hearing himself say the words was reassuring. He knew he was grasping at whatever desperate idea would keep him going, but what else was there to do?

            “I feel terrible,” Cody murmured. The effort of swallowing had forced him to control his breathing a little. “I can’t even think straight. What was I saying, before?”

            “I don’t know. Can you eat any more?”

            “Maybe… one more.”

            Rex managed to get him to swallow three more scoops before Cody gave a shuddering sigh.

            “I can’t,” he finally creaked. “I’ll throw up.”

            “Water?” Rex prompted, lifting it to his lips. Cody took a tiny sip. Rex felt Cody swallowing, breathing—living. Through the haze of exhaustion, the trembling in Rex’s body took on a new meaning as he gently felt Cody’s forehead, his cheek. Still feverish. But the fatigue buzzing in Rex’s head was pushed to the periphery, a strength filling his limbs like a cleansing rush of cold water. To hear Cody’s voice, to find him in this moment, and stay here in this moment regardless of how long or short it might be—it took Rex a few slow, vulnerable breaths to recognize that what he felt now was gratitude.

            Carefully, he eased Cody’s head and shoulders off his legs, the weight of him no longer merely painful to touch. No longer just a corpse waiting to stop moving, but Cody, irreplaceable. For however long it lasted, Rex thought. And the thought alone lifted him, to stay awake and alive. Every second mattered.

            “After we graduate….” He spoke it daringly into the darkness, hoping to turn Cody’s will toward a future that would keep him fighting. “What do you want?”

            “What?” Cody’s voice was quiet and confused.

            “What do you want your life to….” Rex hesitated, shifting his thoughts into a form that felt easier to say out loud. “When you imagine being a commander, what is it you look forward to?”

            Just breathing answered him. Maybe it was too much for Cody to think about through the pain and the fever.

            “I’ll be back in a second,” Rex said.

            Another step took him out into the night air, to heat another compress. In the quiet, every sound—the crackle of raindrops fizzling out on the heated metal, the whistle of air through the trees—felt sharp to his ears, and the glow of his improvised stove was hard to look at directly. When he came back into the tent he had to feel his way back to Cody’s side, night vision temporarily worsened by staring at the light. His eyes throbbed, begging for sleep.

            “I want….” Cody began, breaking the silence as soon as Rex had tied the new compress in place. “I want to know… that I made some kind of mark on the galaxy. A good one. That I changed something….”

            “Yeah,” Rex agreed. He rubbed his eyes with hot fingertips, and it only pressed the fog of weariness further into his skull.

            A pause. Then, hesitantly: “Do you think I’ll lose my eye?”

            Rex’s heart sank. “I… don’t know.” He hadn’t seen any direct injury to the eye, but the infection might cause damage after the fact.

            “It hurts, when I move them. Either one.” Cody’s voice was tight.

            “Why are you moving them now? There’s nothing to see.”

            “I’m not. I just noticed… earlier.” Cody’s tone was dulling as his breathing calmed even further. But he was still speaking, still lucid. “It’s not going away. It’s getting worse. Do you think… I’ll still be worth anything? On the battlefield?”

            “It’ll be just fine, Cody,” Rex said, glad when his voice sounded calm and low. “Even if your eye doesn’t heal fully, you can still see out of the other one.”

            “But—”

            “Come on. You’re too much of an asset to throw away that easily. You’ve still got your arms and legs. And as long as you can speak and think, you’re worth something.”

            “What if I can’t?”

            “ _Cody._ ”

            “I just wonder,” Cody said, distantly. “If I couldn’t be a commander, couldn’t even be a soldier….”

            Rex frowned. _Then what good am I?_ his mind finished automatically.

            “Who would I… even be?” Cody finished.

            The question hung between them, not the one Rex had expected at all to hear.

            “You would be Cody,” Rex said, because it was the only answer.

            “And you would be Rex,” Cody murmured. “I know….”

            Rex’s legs were falling asleep under him again, his back aching despite the way the sound of Cody’s voice kept him upright.

            “But who…?” Cody’s voice was getting tired and breathless again.

            “The one who can’t resist a challenge,” Rex tried, hoping it would be encouraging. He thought of how, back in the beginning, Cody had decided to befriend him, the cadet who was arguably the least friendly of their cohort.

            “Mm.” It was an uncertain sound.

            “Look, Cody. You are who you are.” Another check to Cody’s forehead coated Rex’s hand in sweat. “Anybody who looks at you can see it.”

            “I don’t think that’s true,” Cody mumbled. “I don’t know….”

            Rex sighed. “What are you talking about? Everybody in our group knows you’re one of the best. And so does Master Chief… isn’t it her opinion that matters most?”

            Cody didn’t say anything to that, just made another noise of uncertainty.

            “Don’t doubt yourself,” Rex insisted, needing Cody to speak.

            “I just know… it’s not… when we’re… we’re alone here, Rex… maybe we’ve always been.”

            Rex frowned. “Always been what?”

            “We can’t rely on Master Chief… to see… anything, who we are, if… it’s not what she wants us to be. But….”

            “That’s…” Rex warned uneasily, “not something you should say around her. What matters is what we are. What we can do.”

            “I know. But that’s what… I mean, Rex.” Cody took a deep shuddering breath. “I keep thinking… who am I, if I’m not… anything else….” Another. “It’s not her opinion… I can rely on, for that. For anything. For our life. What we _mean_. Not any Kaminoan. We can’t. But I know… who we _can_ rely on.”

            Rex blinked hard against the tired ache in his eyes, opened his mouth to ask who Cody meant, but Cody’s hand collided softly with his chest, and Rex lifted his own hand to catch it. He swallowed the rawness in his throat. As he pressed his thumb into Cody’s palm, he knew the answer.

            “I know,” Rex echoed under his breath.

            “So… what about you?” Cody breathed.

            “Mm?” Rex lifted his eyes from his knees, realizing suddenly that the outline of Cody’s body was emerging from the dark. The night was turning grey, like waters growing shallow. He could almost make out some of the details on Cody’s face.

            “I know who you are,” Cody nearly whispered. He was getting tired, Rex could tell. “What do you want… it all to mean?”

            Rex tried to think about it. Who was he, besides the imperatives that drove him to become better, better, the best soldier he could be? Didn’t they all have that, at least to some degree? The more he tried to think about what his life meant beyond it, the more his mind settled stubbornly in the here and now, preoccupied with the growing light as it outlined the edges of Cody’s face, the familiar shape of his nose, his eyes, the compress over his wound casting a blurred shadow around its edges. It was the same face as thousands of others, but it didn’t matter. It was still Cody’s.

            “I just… want to know I tried,” Rex said quietly, testing the words for truth. They were almost, not quite, what he really wanted to say.

            “Tried…?” Cody’s focus was fading.

            “Maybe it already means something,” Rex tried to reassure himself. He guided Cody’s hand back to rest, and eased himself down onto his side, one arm loosely over his brother’s chest and shoulder to feel the air move in and out of Cody’s lungs. He tucked his other arm under his own head, finally giving in to the weight dragging down his eyelids as his whole body ached with relief. The light was soft enough still, even as it was growing, and Rex took a deep, grateful breath full of rain and sweat, felt the warmth of his exhale reflected back at him from Cody’s head, close enough that his nose nearly touched it.

            He wanted to stay awake, to watch over Cody as the light grew. But even if it turned out this was their last moment, it meant something. Rex felt Cody’s chest moving under his arm, heard his breathing. It all meant something, even if only to him.


	3. Chapter 3

            The sound could have been easily missed. It was only coincidence that Rex was in the ship, heating another pot of water, when a voice crackled toward him from the deconstructed console.

            For nearly a full second, there was the irrational, chilling thought that someone was in the ship with him, and Rex’s nerve endings prickled from his head to his fingertips. But then, a blinking light caught his eye, and he remembered: the transmitter.

            “—port Seven Seven Nine, please respond,” the Kaminoan voice was saying. “A status report is required. Over.”

            Rex switched the receiver on. “This is Cadet Transport Seven Seven Nine,” he said hoarsely. “We—” For a moment, the words fled his mind, the proper tone for reporting what had happened. But then it came back. “We require immediate evacuation. Shuttle crash, unknown cause. Only two survivors—cadet Seven-Five-Six-Seven, no serious injury, and cadet Two-Two-Two-Four, whose injuries are severe. Severe bleeding, possible concussion and infection of a head wound. Over.”

            The silence on the other line seemed to stretch forever before it crackled back to life. “Copy that, Cadet Seven-Five-Six-Seven. A ship for evacuation is being dispatched immediately. Over and out.”

            Rex hesitated for just a moment, even though he knew that was it, just that simple message—someone was coming. Triumph filled him, and relief. They were going to make it. He pushed himself to his feet and all but ran through the ship, breaking into new speed as soon as he was back out in the rain and on level ground, mud spraying up from his boots as he pounded his way across the open expanse to the tent.

            “Cody!” he yelled, before he’d even made it inside. “Cody! They’re coming. Someone’s coming for us!”

            Cody didn’t wake, pale and trembling again.

            “Cody, did you hear me? They’re coming for us! You’re going to live.” It was almost hard to breathe. Rex ran a hand over Cody’s hair, but Cody didn’t even stir. Rex looked under the compress—an area on one side of Cody’s wound was more inflamed than the other and tight to the touch—and he quickly pulled his hand back at the cry that erupted. Cody still didn’t open his eyes, panting a little with pain. “I think… maybe it’s finally forming an abscess, but I can’t be sure,” Rex noted with relief. “Sorry, Cody… it’s probably better to wait until they pick us up to drain it.” He didn’t want to risk worsening the infection.

            No reply, just shivering and ragged breaths. Rex looked down at Cody’s face and replaced the compress, a smile pulling softly at the corner of his mouth. “We’re getting out of here soon, I promise. Everything’s going to be okay.”

            He could hardly believe it. They were going to make it, after all.

            “Just hang on a little longer. Everything’s going to be okay.”

…

            Rex was deep in the trees when the thrum of distant engines reached him. At first, he thought it was the wind, or an approaching thunderstorm, but then, as he stopped to listen and turned his head toward the skies, it became clear.

            By the time he reached camp, the ship was coming down toward the muddy gash left by the destroyed transport, and Rex slowed, panting, taking in the uncanny sight of such a sleek, clean vessel in this messy place, surrounded by twisted trees, puddles, and broken, blackened wreckage. In his mud-crusted boots and torn, stained clothes, he walked toward it, suddenly strangely aware of his body.

            That ship seemed almost superimposed. It didn’t belong. Even more out of place were the smooth white figures of the Kaminoans who descended the ramp, their long necks bowing to look down at the mud their hoof-like shoes sank into.

            Approaching them, Rex stopped and came to attention when he recognized their trainer, Os Tala. “Master Chief,” he said, and would have paused to wait for instructions, but the urge to make a detailed report overcame his hesitation. “I’ve been treating Co—” He stopped himself; Os Tala didn’t accept names instead of numbers. “Two-Two-Two-Four’s infection… with antibiotics from the medkit and hot compresses, but he’s had a fever for the last two days. I think he might—”

            “Tell me how the others died, cadet.” Os Tala’s voice was brisk as usual. She followed the medical staff she’d brought toward the tent, and Rex fell into step, just behind her.

            “Yes, Master Chief.” He watched the doctors turn off the repulsorlifts on the stretcher they’d brought, watched them reach into the tent. “Five-Five-Three-Six was out of restraints and dead upon impact. Five-Eight-Eight and Two-Four-One both died of what I can only assume were internal injuries… the pilot died of blood loss because of shrapnel wounds, possibly a pierced artery.”

            It all sounded so normal, but the bland report brought to mind vivid images that Rex quickly pushed away. They had reached the tent, and Cody lay upon the stretcher, the medical staff’s eyes half-lidded in an expression Rex read as a frown as they straightened and turned to face Os Tala.

            “This clone is nearly dead,” said one. “Not only is he disfigured, but concussion and infection may result in… complications, in the future, even if he survives any treatment.”

            “Perhaps it would be best to salvage just the one.” The second doctor fixed his enormous eyes dispassionately on Rex.

            For a moment, the words passed through Rex’s mind without making a ripple, simply because they made no sense.

            “I see. Well… if that is your professional opinion,” said Os Tala, after a pause.

            “Wait—wait, you don’t mean—” Rex threw himself toward the stretcher. Its repulsorlifts hadn’t yet been activated, so he pushed past the doctor to kneel by Cody’s side and look up at them all in disbelief. “Master Chief,” he said desperately, “he’s—w-we—we’ve been fighting to stay alive all this time—”

            “Indeed,” said Os Tala. “Your survival, considering the severity of the wreckage, is most surprising.”

            “If Cody has managed to survive this long—”

            Os Tala’s voice went sharp. “Speak properly, cadet.”

            “If _Two-Two-Two-Four_ has managed to survive this long, that proves that he’s strong. He’s resilient, and he’s worth saving!” Rex kept a hand on Cody’s arm, eyes flicking between the three white faces staring down at him. “Please, Master Chief… you’ve spent all these years training us.”

            “Yes, well,” said Os Tala coolly. “Inevitably, some long-term investments still lead to disappointment. That is simply reality.”

            “But—he’s getting better, you—you _have_ to treat him! If I could keep him alive this long, surely you’ll be able to do _something!_ ” Rex looked to the doctors next, glancing between all three of the Kaminoans, searching for any sign that they were listening at all.

            The smooth skin above Os Tala’s eyes creased in a perturbed look. “It is not your place to give orders, cadet. _You_ are not a doctor. You do not know what is worth saving or not.”

            “ _Not worth saving?!”_ The growl in his voice came out louder than he intended, but he didn’t even care, the fire of desperation was in his fingers, gripping Cody’s arm and the edge of the stretcher so hard it hurt. “He is one of the best cadets you have! I know he is! If you let him go to waste, you _will_ regret it!”

            “Do not argue with your superiors,” Os Tala ordered in a hushed command. It was a familiar phrase, one of the most basic rules, and for a moment, Rex felt his anger snap back upon himself, felt himself preparing to bow his head and obey.

            But then the nearer doctor reached for something on his belt and Rex reacted before he could think, jumping to his feet in a combat stance. “ _Don’t touch him!”_

            “Step away from the stretcher, cadet.” The master chief’s voice was calm and insistent.

            “I can’t do that, sir,” Rex said, breathless at what he was doing, but unable to do anything else. “I can’t do that. He needs a bacta tank. He needs help, not a death sentence! I’ve been—”

            The doctors had just looked away from him, turning their stern faces toward Os Tala in question, when one of them removed a shock gun from her belt. Rex turned and threw himself over the stretcher, shielding Cody’s face and chest with his body—if they were that determined to throw away a good cadet, they may as well get rid of two. He stared at the mud beneath his fists and gripped the far edge of the stretcher, waiting for them to try and tear him away.

            “Seven-Five-Six-Seven.” Os Tala’s voice came from behind him, gentle and thrown low. “We will take you and your fellow cadet back to Kamino for evaluation. Move aside, and let the doctors take Two-Two-Two-Four to the ship.”

            Rex didn’t let go; he just twisted a little to look at her over his shoulder, searching for any lie in her words. Her gaze was cold. “Sir, I can _not_ let him die!” He stared at her, wide-eyed, still panting—his breathing wasn’t slowing down, his heart pounding, pulse rushing in his ears and flushing heat through him even though he was holding himself so rigidly over Cody’s body. “I can’t. I can’t do that. I have to keep him alive. He’s the only one. He’s worth _something_ , he’s worth enough—you _can’t_ just _throw him away.”_

            “Calm yourself, cadet.” She was looking at him with some kind of realization on her face. Rex wasn’t sure exactly what—he only half-dared to hope that she understood the merit in what he was trying to say. Her eyes moved to the doctors. “We will hold off on termination and evaluate him further, but _only_ if you cooperate. Let the doctors move him.”

            For a long moment, Rex stared at her, pain streaking through his neck from the angle, trying to force himself to obey. Everything in him was pounding out _no_ against the automatic _yes, sir,_ and they wrestled in his mind, his arms shaking from how tightly he held onto the stretcher. He turned his eyes back to Cody, saw him in the light again; he did look more than half dead, Rex saw that now. It was only the thought that if the doctors stunned him now, Cody would have no one to defend him—only that thought allowed Rex to release his grip and get to his feet, eyes flicking nervously between the doctors’ long, slender hands, watching everything they did. They didn’t touch Cody, just activated the repulsorlifts and began steering the stretcher back toward the ship. Rex kept pace with it, inserting himself between the two Kaminoans at the front and rear of it, heart in his throat.

            None of them spoke as they went up the ramp into the completely clean, sterile ship. The ramp closed behind them and it was all artificial light again. Rex’s eyes stung, overwhelmed by the brightness after days under cloud cover. Cody looked even worse, the lights bringing out the intense red of the infected area, the sickly hue to Cody’s unshaven face, the colors of the bruises around his wound, and even the shine of sweat on his forehead and neck, a bead of it trickling slowly down his temple and into his hair. Rex tried to breathe normally, but his chest felt constricted.

            Finally, they were standing in a small med bay, the stretcher locked into place with its head to the wall. Rex felt a shift; they were already preparing to lift off, to leave for Kamino.

            “Sterilize the area,” said one doctor to another, and they sprayed a pressurized stream of antibacterial solution over Cody’s wound. Cody’s whole body jerked, and Rex’s with it when Cody gave a strangled cry, but he held himself back from knocking the doctors away.

            “We will drain the abscess,” said the male, and Rex didn’t look up from Cody’s face, didn’t move away from the stretcher. The doctors moved around him, one of them pressing her fingers to Cody’s face while her other hand deftly guided a scalpel across the swollen area near Cody’s remaining stitches. Rex’s stomach clenched as blood and pus oozed out, quickly sucked and dabbed away by the doctor’s tools. For a moment, he nearly gagged, confused at himself. He’d seen worse in education holos, had seen worse during this mission, but a cold sweat was coming over him, his teeth chattering from the effort of keeping calm. He couldn’t feel his fingers.

            Os Tala’s voice came at him as if from a great distance. “Clean yourself up, cadet.”

            He looked down at the folded red clothes she offered him, then up into her face. That aloof look was still there. He glanced back at Cody, but the doctors were blocking his view of him now, removing Cody’s clothing, attaching IV lines here and there. Cody seemed strangely small under their long-fingered hands.

            Slowly, Rex took the clothes from Os Tala and looked for where he was supposed to shower. She pointed him toward a decontamination unit through a transparent door nearby. He set his clothes in the labeled cubby hole once he was inside, stripped off the ruined clothing he’d been living in for days, and stuffed it in the intake chute just as the jets started to hit him from all sides, stinging and hot. He held his breath and kept his eyes and mouth clamped shut, counting to thirty before they shut off and he could gasp for air again, the very steam around him reeking of disinfectant. The air cyclers turned on and buffeted him in a warm, pressurized storm until he was nearly dry, and his ears rang from the sudden changes as he pulled on the soft weight of the clean clothes.

            Os Tala was waiting for him when the door opened. One of the doctors was gone, the other making notes as she stood beside Cody’s stretcher, his wound a bright red that stood out in the monochrome surroundings.

            “So,” she said. “Now that you are off that wild planet, do you remember who you are?”

            “Yes, sir,” Rex said, glancing up at her only once before he had to wrench his eyes away from Cody, settling for staring at a spot on the floor behind Os Tala.

            “You are disturbed. I thought you to be more resilient than this, cadet.”

            Rex stayed silent, not sure what to say. Not even sure what to think.

            “Do you recognize what you have done wrong?”

            “Yes, Master Chief,” Rex said, automatically. Only after the words had left him did the shame—was it shame?—weigh him down. A suffocating feeling in his throat.

            “Please, explain it to me.”

            Rex’s heart sank further, a sensation like heated gel oozing down his spine. “I… spoke out of turn. I resisted orders. I….” Every sentence he had to force out was worse than a sting from a shock gun. He swallowed and willed his throat not to close up, forced his hands to uncurl from fists. “I implied a threat toward a noncombatant.” Now he truly couldn’t meet her eyes.

            “You prioritized what, above following orders?”

            “The… life of a single cadet,” Rex said.

            “Explain to me what basic principle this violates.”

            Rex breathed in as steadily as he could manage. “It….” It was so hard to think, through the pressure squeezing his chest. “It violates… the principle that… no one soldier is more important than carrying out the orders of a superior officer.”

            “That is correct. If you fail to follow orders given to you by your superiors—orders which are surely for the greater good—your selfishness may save one life and yet condemn thousands of others. You managed to understand this during interrogation training and yet a mere week on this planet has broken your will?”

            “I’m sorry, Master Chief.” All he could see was the floor, her feet standing firm. Rex knew she was not the type to pace. She stood still in front of him, unavoidable, leaving no openings.

            “Do not think that my decision to try and save your fellow cadet’s life is any kind of reward for your insubordination. On a real battlefield, you would have caused his death and more besides, once your enemies realized your weakness.”

            “Understood,” Rex said to the floor, and it came out barely above a whisper. The thought that he had nearly condemned Cody by trying to save him sent Rex’s mind whirling with anxious confusion. Did this mean Os Tala had never truly intended to let the doctors kill him?

            “I am sure you can see the reason that a commander must not show any particular favor for one trooper over another,” Os Tala said softly, but even her gentle tone scraped Rex hollow with its disdain. “If you think about it from the perspective of your future troops. Now… if you show any inclination to disrespect my orders again, you will be sedated for the rest of the flight and the consequences will be most severe.”

            “I understand, Master Chief.” Rex forced himself to raise his eyes briefly, spine and throat still burning. “Thank you.”

            “You are old enough to know better. I will be watching you quite closely from now on, to determine whether you are still fit for service in the army at all.” She lowered her eyelids a little, something like a glare, and turned away, heading through another door. For half a second Rex was caught in place by the lack of clear directives, but one glance at Cody’s still form, and a pressure pounded through his veins, swelling his chest and throat closed until he could barely suppress the urge to gasp for air—the idea of staying here, standing alongside the damning evidence of his mistakes, was too much.

            Cody didn’t need him anymore, was out of his hands. He rushed through the door behind the master chief into a blank hallway. When the door closed behind him, he slowed, allowed some distance to grow between them as Os Tala disappeared around a bend. He tried to breathe normally, to hold down the feeling of impending collapse, akin to a gag reflex or a building scream. Where could he go? Pain coursed through his body from his knees to his temples, and the edges of his vision vibrated like a poor-quality hologram.

            Uncertain steps guided him finally to an unlocked door, empty troop quarters with bunks inside. Without memory of crossing the floor, he fell onto his side on the nearest lower bunk, and began to shake, curling in on himself. Not from cold, though the interior of the ship was cooler than any day or night on Pzob had been… but from days of muscles wound more tightly than he had realized. When he buried his face in his arms, teeth clenched, the smell of disinfectant filled his nose again. Everything so sterile, so proper and in its place.

            _…to determine whether you are still fit for service in the army at all…._

            His own frantic voice rang inside his head, the feeling of his face contorting into a snarl, his boots sliding through the mud into a combative stance.

            What had he done? If any trooper under him had done the same, he would have….

            His mind stopped there, snapping back and forth wildly like a flag in a gale—disloyalty, shame—violent revulsion at the thought of Cody left for dead.

            He had thrown it all away, everything he’d worked for, for ten years, for his entire life. Now he did feel cold, shivers radiating out from deep in his gut, no matter how hard he wrapped his arms around himself.

            The silence and mechanical white noise of the ship rang in his ears, artificial and harsh after so many days in the rain. Breath came with difficulty, thoughts scraping through Rex’s mind like claws down his back. He closed his eyes.

…

            Rex turned over. How long had it been? Hours, days… his stomach was empty and his lips were parched. They’d given him some water, some indistinct measure of time before they’d returned to take a blood sample, but after that it was just emptiness and blank walls again, for what seemed to be an eternity. Rex’s shoulders felt like wire cables, and his head and jaw throbbed, breath still leaving him lightheaded no matter what position he forced his body into to try and open up his lungs.

            The chaotic thoughts in his mind had settled into a dull, dreadful certainty. He was going to be decommissioned. There was no place in the army for a wild animal who snapped at its creators. Anything besides death would be a mercy on the master chief’s part.

            For a moment Rex thought he heard the sound of footsteps outside his door. He sat up, knowing it was probably his imagination again. Over and over, he’d thought he heard footsteps—not Kaminoan footsteps, but human ones, clone ones… but every time he’d gone to the door and opened it, no one was in the hallway. He didn’t bother getting up this time, just stared at the door, waiting.

            As he sat, his body feeling like a hollow drum, he felt the shift that meant they were in atmosphere again. They were back on Kamino. New threads of numbness spidered through his veins. He would be taken to the medical wing, given a shot, most likely… the world would fade. Would it hurt? Would he panic again, and truly fight the doctors this time, unable to control the instinct to survive?

            Maybe he could go out with some kind of dignity. He would try to accept it. For a moment, an image flashed in his mind, of Cody walking toward him from the edge of the trees. Cody, waking up well, and returning to training. His throat threatened to close, but he forced himself to breathe.

            At last, long after the ship had settled and landed, the door did open—he jumped at the sound, lost in images of his own death.

            Os Tala stood back from the opening. “Come,” she ordered.

            He came to his feet, knees weak but holding steady, and walked behind her down the ramp. For uncounted paces he focused as much of his mind as possible on keeping step with her perfectly, keeping his place just behind her elbow and to the side, where he could see her face but was still not even with her. Cody was nowhere to be seen, nor the doctors.

            Before he had fully processed where they were going, she stopped in the middle of a crowded hall. They were near the command cadet quarters, Rex realized.

            “Go,” she said.

            “Sir?” He looked up at her, disoriented.

            “You are not to follow me further.”

            “W—what are your orders for me, Master Chief?” Too late, he heard the lost note in his voice.

            “I will be informing my superiors of everything that has happened regarding this mission… and your behavior. Continue with your regular training until further notice.”

            She left him before he could respond, long strides carrying her far in a matter of seconds.

            Automatically, Rex turned. He was already halfway to the armory before he realized her words could have held a kernel of hope. If to be decommissioned was his certain fate, why ask him to continue with his training?

            But perhaps it was just on the off chance that they kept him alive—then no time would have been wasted.

            A small itch brought his hand to his face, absentmindedly, and the rough scratchy texture of stubble made him stop in his tracks. His hands still smelled like disinfectant. He needed a shower. A real shower, the familiar smell of standard issue soap. Maybe if he shaved, things would feel normal—or as close to normal as they ever would be again.

            When he entered the echoing room he kept his eyes down. When the water poured over his face he kept his eyes closed and let some run into his mouth. And when he was finished and clothed again, standing in front of a mirror, he stared at a face he barely recognized.

            There was a chain of small bruises on his left cheek and forehead he didn’t remember getting, and scratches on his neck and ear. The dark stubble made his cheeks look hollow, and there was something sickly to the tone of his skin, especially around his eyes. He looked more battered, more like Cody, than he’d realized. Rex imagined the ugly snarling face and voice he’d used against Os Tala, paired with this unkempt body, and shuddered as he rubbed shaving gel onto his chin.

            His hand shook as he raised the razor toward his face. He tried to go slowly, tried to force his nerves to be still, but something had seized his spine and wouldn’t let go. Gradually, the stubble came off, as footsteps and voices echoed around him.

            It took him a moment too long to notice when one of those voices was directed at him.

            “Whoa, Rex? Is that you? You’re back early.”

            He turned stiffly toward the voice, razor hovering over his cheek. Quickdraw was standing there, Rocky coming in behind him, and 4569. The claws in his spine tightened and he almost forgot to speak. “Yeah.”

            “I thought for sure Cody would be in here with you,” Quickdraw said, looking around. “Eager to get the hair off his face….”

            Rex turned back toward the mirror and tried to continue, but the words forced themselves roughly out of his throat. “He’s in the medical wing.”

            “Oh.” By tone, it sounded like 4569. “What happened? Hostile creatures?”

            Rex moved his hand a little faster, but his hand juddered unexpectedly with a sharp involuntary inhale—and a tiny line of red welled up before he’d gotten the rest of his left side done. He pressed a finger to it, not wanting to speak any more. In the mirror, the others had shifted so they could meet his eyes in the reflection.

            “Our transport crashed,” he finally said in as monotone a voice as he could, when the bleeding had almost stopped. “Cody and I were the only survivors. And Cody’s in critical condition.”

            How many survivors would there ultimately be from that training mission? Perhaps none. He could be decommissioned, Cody’s unstable condition could drag him past the edge of what the doctors were willing to do. Maybe they had been right after all. He took a deep, uneven breath and tried to steady his hand, continue shaving the other side.

            It wasn’t until someone broke the silence that Rex realized how long the others had been standing there speechless.

            “Only survivors? _What?_ ” Quickdraw came close and reached a hand toward him, but stopped short. Rex couldn’t escape the expression on his face, mirrored so close to his own. “But—Five-Eighty-Eight—Fort, and Snapper?”

            “What happened? Why did it crash?” Rocky’s voice was uncharacteristically hushed.

            “Rex… I’m… I thought you looked a little shaken up.” 4569 put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sure it wasn’t your fault—”

            Rex shifted away from the touch, and 4569 let go. He tried to finish shaving—he had to finish, he had to leave. But his hand was shaking too much. He cut himself again—and continued.

            “They’re dead?” Quickdraw’s voice had gone a little higher than normal, tight. “Just like that? Rex, what _happened?_ ”

            “Stop for a moment and talk to us,” Rocky said seriously.

            “Easy. Why don’t we give him some space—”

            “But I have to know! Five-Eighty-Eight… he….”

            “I know, but look at him.”

            “Rex, come on.”

            He had barely washed the gel off with hurried splashes of water before he gave up and set the razor down, muscles constricted as if by poison, lungs struggling to process the moist, clean air. “I’m sorry,” he managed to push out between clenched teeth before he stumbled past them. “I can’t… talk about this now.”

            Someone made a weak attempt to grab his arm as he left them, but their grip broke easily, and he left the showers, desperate to escape the echoing laughter, the way the others looked at him. His skin stung, something swelling hatefully in his chest as if it would burst out of him and leave his quaking, weakened self and all his brothers behind.

…

            Rex ran at the curved wall of the obstacle course, propelling himself upward with carefully balanced steps until his fingertips could grasp the ledge. With a strain in his muscles, he pulled his body up onto that plateau. His body was steadiest when he pushed it to perform, sweat and a quick heartbeat drowning out any thoughts, any hopes or fears. Rex swept the area on the other side of the platform once with his eyes before pulling a DC-17 from his hip and firing at the overhead turrets that were peppering the platform with fizzling arcs of electricity.

            Suddenly, the lights dimmed, and the droids below went still. A cool Kaminoan voice came over the loudspeaker: “Group Esk, report to training room C-forty-nine.” It was Os Tala.

            It had been days of waiting, training on autopilot even knowing it could all be a waste of time. Tension tugged at Rex’s gut but he hurried down the ladder, not letting himself think, and hopped past the last few rungs and bounded across the floor to the exit. He had been using training room C-forty-one. C-forty-nine was just down the hall.

            When he arrived, Quickdraw and Rocky were already standing at parade rest in front of her. Rex quickly came to join the line. Three others joined the line right away, then another, and after a long silent moment, at last the eighth cadet joined the line, and they all moved to attention.

            Os Tala stood in front of them, just as silent and just as still as they were, except for her eyes. And when that gaze paused on him, Rex tensed and wondered what she was thinking. He tried to clear his mind of all the imagined futures crowding it, most of them cut short by a hypo and pairs of huge Kaminoan eyes.

            At last, she spoke. “Your training is complete. I expect you will all be deployed within a few rotations. Before I give you your assignments, I believe it is necessary to address the sudden diminished numbers of your cohort. While such an explanation should never be expected of your superiors, in this case I wish to use this as a final training opportunity on retaining mental fortitude in the face of the realities of war. While you have all been perfectly designed to tolerate the stress of the battlefield, genetic modification alone cannot withstand the will of a soldier who has intentionally chosen to follow his basest instincts. For this reason, Seven-Five-Six-Seven, despite having previously shown himself to be among the most skilled and professional in this group, has disqualified himself from a position as commander.”

            Rex’s stomach pulled into a heavy knot. To his right, he heard Quickdraw pull in a quick breath, and thought he could feel 4569 looking at him from his left.

            “We lost three of your cohort and a pilot in training to an unexplained malfunction in the transport, which caused it to crash-land on the planet’s surface,” Os Tala went on calmly. “While Seven-Five-Six-Seven’s efforts to treat Two-Two-Two-Four’s wounds were commendable and proper, he failed to defer to the judgment of Kaminoan doctors when we arrived to retrieve him. He allowed his emotions to degrade him.” Her eyes were on him now, but Rex didn’t dare break his forward gaze, no matter how her cold stare burned. “Where once was a proud soldier in full control of himself, I saw instead a snarling, panicked, and disobedient creature ready to attack those who commanded him with little provocation.”

            Rex held tight to the helmet under his arm, focusing on breathing past the shame. There had been some small hope left in him, he realized. A thought that perhaps perfect behavior after his return to Kamino would keep him alive. Was she going to kill him right here in front of the others, as an example? More likely he’d be pulled away quietly, the others standing silently apart.

            “You all know how consistent Seven-Five-Six-Seven has been in the past, when it comes to proper behavior. He has been a leader in this cohort. I have relied on him to guide the group forward in full compliance with regulation, to keep the perspective of a true and worthy commander at all times.” Rex felt it difficult to swallow, and her praise was no comfort. Something was hardening in his gut as she spoke. “Let this be a lesson on the dangers of complacency. The pride of an officer is something you must intentionally maintain in all circumstances, through every experience. If I were to give Seven-Five-Six-Seven the rank of commander, I would be endangering his future troops. On a real battlefield, you rise and fall together. There is no place for selfishness in command, or sentimentality. Anyone who forgets this is little better than a mindless beast.”

            Rex breathed as slow and steady as he could manage, that hardened knot spilling unbidden retorts into his mind. _I didn’t betray any brothers_ , a voice inside him protested. He tried to silence it, but it came back, repeating. His jaw clenched to keep it inside. Whatever happened next, at least he knew that much.

            Os Tala’s eyes shifted away from him, releasing him from their unfeeling penetrating stare. “With that said, I will now present your assignments. Two-Zero-Eight-Eight, you have shown a consistent trajectory of excellence. Your ingenuity in devising strategy and your ability to adapt immediately to whatever role is required of you are the hallmarks of an effective officer. You bring out the best performance of any group you join. Your new rank is regimental commander.”

            “Thank you, sir,” 2088 said, stoic after that grim introduction to their graduation. Rex had to fight to stay at perfect attention, a voice telling him that at this point, it wouldn’t make any difference.

            “Six-Zero-Zero-One, you have shown a unique ability to increase group cohesion, and surprising bursts of perception in complex situations. Your skills are best suited to the rank of captain.”

            Quickdraw’s “Thank you, Master Chief,” was proper and calm, and she moved on. The rest of the assignments happened on the edge of Rex’s awareness. With her attention fully away from him, he sank into the suffocating combination of tension and emptiness, part of him withdrawing now that his hope of redemption was out of reach, the rest not able to entirely eliminate the fear and shame that had been his constant companion since his return. _It doesn’t matter,_ he thought, not sure whether the thought came because he believed it or because he wanted to.

            _I’m just another clone_.

            The current of tension froze to ice in his veins as Cody’s voice returned to him from the tent. Their last conversation. Cody had been too ill, too incoherent to speak after that. He’d spent his last conscious moments trying to reach Rex, trying to create something meaningful in the space between them. To share thoughts that shouldn’t exist but did. _We can’t rely on her to tell us what we mean_. Because to her, they’d never mean anything more than their numbers, never be more than successes, disappointments, statistics on a screen, data appended to her personal record and Tipoca’s production log. Because they did mean something, even if she didn’t see it, even if no one else did. Rex’s life did matter, even if he couldn’t change his fate now or in the future, because there was someone to whom it mattered, and one person was enough, even if that person was _just another clone,_ and even if that clone wasn’t ever going to wake from his hospital bed again.

            _I don’t regret it_.

            For a moment, the words echoed, and he was almost inclined to doubt the thought because it had come much too easily. But even if neither of them survived to deployment, he realized he couldn’t have done anything else, wouldn’t do anything else if faced with the same moment again. He hadn’t endangered anyone by defending Cody’s life. To have stood back and let the Kaminoans decide Cody was not worth the effort even of retrieval would have been a betrayal of the profound bond Rex had discovered over those days that they shared. No commission was worth the guilt he would have carried for the rest of his life had he simply remained quiet and deferred.

            “Seven-Five-Six-Seven.” Os Tala’s sharp voice cut through his thoughts. He felt a flicker of a chill as her eyes rested on him again, but the tight fear he’d been carrying was dissipating into a solemn acceptance. “Please remain. As for the rest of you, congratulations on your assignments. You will find further details at the terminal attached to your profiles. Report to the dispensary to obtain your armor. You are dismissed.”

            The rest of Rex’s training group filed out, Quickdraw not being able to refrain from giving him a glance as he passed. Rex remained at attention. Once the others were gone, Os Tala approached Rex with her characteristic professionalism.

            “It is the decision of my superiors that, after reviewing the results of your psychological evaluation and the details of your mission report, not to mention your history of excellence” —Rex held his breath— “that with close supervision, you remain suitable for the position of captain. This is far from what you may have been assigned had you not abandoned your senses under pressure. However, your skills are needed in the war effort, especially now that three other potential officers were lost in this mission. With fewer troops to lead, perhaps your weakness will not cost the army too much in the future, and experience will teach you the perspective you have lost.”

            There was a silence as Rex waited for her words to sink in, or for it to be revealed that she had made some mistake, or this was a dark joke. _Captain?_ He was going to be an officer? He was going to _live_?

            At last, in a perfect trooper’s tone, he said, “Thank you, Master Chief.”

            “You are dismissed, Seven-Five-Six-Seven. I expect to never hear of problems from you again.”

            “Yes, sir.”

            Rex turned and exited the room only to find seven pairs of eyes staring at him.

            “Rex, did you really attack a Kaminoan?” Quickdraw said too loudly.

            “I—I didn’t, no,” he said quickly, pushing through the group to head down the hall toward the terminal. “I didn’t attack anyone.” The others kept pace with him as he strode purposefully forward with more confidence than he felt.

            “But you were going to?” Rocky asked, with something like awe.

            Rex took a deep breath, looking forward, still only himself processing everything that had just happened. “I… disagreed that Cody was too injured to save,” he said in a low voice.

            “What?” Quickdraw breathed. “But they brought Cody back, didn’t they? Why would they bring him back at all if that was true?”

            Rex remained silent, wondering as he had every day since then, whether or not his actions had been the deciding factor after all. Perhaps Os Tala would have saved Cody’s life either way. But there was a definite chance she would have stood by her first decision instead.

            “Did they….” Quickdraw’s voice was hushed and tense. “Make that same call when it came to Five-Eighty-Eight and the others? Is that why they didn’t make it back?”

            “No… they were already dead long before that,” Rex sighed. “I’m sorry.”

            Quickdraw relaxed in the corner of Rex’s eye.

            “I can hardly even _imagine_ you snapping at a Kaminoan,” Rocky muttered, gesturing whole-body disbelief.

            “Well….” Rex left it at that, not sure what more there was to say.

            “No wonder you’ve been acting so strange,” said 4569. Then, in a low voice, “…Are you still graduating?”

            “Yeah…” Rex said quietly, then stopped walking. The others took a few more steps before they stopped too and glanced back at him, seven pairs of eyes questioning. Rex looked back the direction they had come. “I have something I need to do. I’ll catch up with you guys later.”

            4569 frowned. “What is it? Maybe one of us can help.”

            “No,” Rex said, but softened his next words, realizing with a shock that none of them were looking at him with revulsion, just confusion and worry. “No, this is something I have to do on my own.”

            “Are you sure?” Rocky scowled. “I know you’re a loner, Rex. And it’s not like we’re going to have many more chances to help you out. Don’t waste ‘em.”

            Rex looked at them all, his brothers, the family that he’d slowly bonded with over the last four years. It had been such a difficult start, no one but Cody bothering to pull him in at first, to see his self-isolation for the basic inexperience that it was. And now here they were, all of them wanting to hang on for however long before they were forced to part ways. At one time, he would have taken their concern as pity. But now, whether it was right or wrong, he chose to trust that it was something more than that.

            “I understand,” he said gratefully. “Thank you. If it was something I needed help with, I would ask. But this time it really is something only I can do. I’ll catch up with you later.”

            8815 sighed. “I wouldn’t be so confident of that if I were you. Things are happening so fast. It feels like everything’s about to change.”

            2088 was quiet, watching them all. Perhaps, being a commander now, he knew on some level instinctive to his rank what they were all flaunting a defiance toward—the fact that whatever connection they’d shared up to this point was about to end, through distance, through death. It hadn’t been just the Kaminoans Rex had tried to fight, but a larger certainty.

            “You’re right,” Rex admitted. “I guess any moment could be goodbye.”

            “Well just in case… best of luck, Rex,” said Rocky.

            He made eye contact with each of them—Rocky, Quickdraw, 2088, 4569, 8815, 2701, and 3973. Then, they nodded at each other and he turned to walk the opposite way.

…

Rex walked fast once he had turned the corner, long strides rushing him past the Kaminoans and cadets headed in both directions. Everyone on the main walkways were moving in a more disorderly way than usual today, and the halls were crowded with knots of troopers, walking in their own little pockets of chatter.

            With each step some of the questions came back, from the psychological evaluation he’d been run through a few days ago, reciting in his head in slow, ponderous Kaminoan voices. Questions about his mental state, his motivation, his decisions in hundreds of imagined scenarios, fired at him in a steady stream for hours until he could hardly say for sure that what came out of his mouth was truly what he would do. Even now, he didn’t know what he would do when he arrived and saw Cody lying there, assuming he _was_ still there. He hadn’t asked to see him since they’d landed, knowing that word would get back to the master chief that he was stepping out of line again. And the thought of facing Cody before, filled with conflict and shame over defending him, had been too much to bear. But now Rex realized that he didn’t even know if Cody was still alive, as he surely wouldn’t have been told if he had died.

            Rex reached the entrance to the medical wing. A trooper in new, shiny white armor stepped into his path and stopped him.

            “I’m assigned to security for this area. Do you have clearance to be in this wing?”

            “Could you pass on my request to visit one of the command cadets?” Rex asked.

            “Yes, sir.” The trooper put a hand to his helmet, no doubt speaking quietly to someone over comm. After a moment, he lifted his head. “They want to know your number and the number of the cadet you’re visiting.”

            “Seven-Five-Six-Seven, visiting Two-Two-Two-Four,” Rex said.

            For a long moment, Rex fully expected to be turned away. But then the trooper nodded and motioned one of his fellows over with a stiff flick of one arm. “He’ll lead you to him.”

            “Thank you.” Rex nodded once to the first guard, and followed the other through the rows of empty and full beds, finally turning past the partition to see him.

            Cody was propped up a little, but seemed to be asleep. A hovering droid whisked away an almost-empty bowl of food as Rex edged closer, forgetting the other clone behind him, focusing instead on the details of Cody’s face. His wound was no longer inflamed, the bruises fading. All the redness was concentrated in the scar, now, but it looked like it was healing properly at last. His face and hair were clean and dry. A sense of relief flooded Rex’s body, almost making him weak.

            Rex set his training helmet down and stood right up against the edge of the bed. Tentatively, he reached a hand toward Cody’s shoulder, the same conviction that had kept him going on Pzob welling up inside him again.

            Before he could touch him, Cody’s eyes opened. Both of them, though his left still didn’t open quite as wide.

            “Rex….” Cody’s voice was tired, his smile sluggish. On some kind of stronger painkiller, perhaps, and whatever other drugs were keeping him on the mend.

            “Hey, Cody,” Rex said quietly, and let his hand rest on Cody’s chest as it had so often back on Pzob. But here, it wasn’t necessary. Here, the monitors attached to Cody’s chest kept track of his pulse instead. “How are you feeling?”

            “Mm… kind of disoriented,” Cody mumbled. He blinked at Rex. “Last thing I remember I thought I was dying… and… then I woke up here…? I asked the doctors where you were… but they just said you weren’t injured, and wouldn’t tell me anything else.”

            “I’m fine,” Rex reassured him. “Well as ever. But you missed graduation, you know.”

            “What?” Cody sat up, but Rex pushed against his chest to encourage him to rest. He grabbed Rex’s hand to try and ease it off. “It’s alright, I can sit up for a minute, I just—I can’t believe it. You’re leaving without me?”

            Rex nodded, feeling strangely calm for the first time in days. “In the next few days, probably… but I have some duties to attend to before that. I thought… I wanted to come see for myself that you were alright.”

            “Oh.” Cody looked troubled, hand still wrapped loosely around Rex’s.

            “So Master Chief hasn’t spoken to you yet?”

            “No.” Cody blinked searchingly at Rex. “You’ve received your rank assignment?”

            Rex nodded reluctantly and began to withdraw his hand.

            Cody let it go after a brief squeeze. Rex wondered if it was intentional, it seemed so compulsive, as if Cody had resisted the withdrawal and then immediately thought better of it. A small smile tugged at Cody’s mouth. “So? How’s it feel?”

            “How’s what feel?” Rex braced himself for some teasing remark, and realized bitterly that this might be the last time Cody teased him, ever. The thought caught in his chest like a hook.

            “Being a commander?”

            “Oh.” Rex’s throat warmed and he swallowed and shrugged, eyes averted. “I dunno.”

            “Hey, no need to be so humble about it. You’ve earned this.”

            Rex couldn’t get himself to say it, unsure how he could explain everything that had happened, how he was nearly decommissioned, and the actions that had brought him to that point. He knew if he told Cody he had been given the rank of captain, Cody wouldn’t understand just how much the assignment felt like an honor; it was something that would always remind him that some things were worth risking everything for. As he looked at Cody, whose face was tired but attentive, all he could feel was a gentle pride and a soft ache of impending loss.

            “You’ll find out for yourself soon enough,” Rex finally said.

            “Mm. Guess you’re right,” Cody sighed.

            “How much do you remember?” Rex asked quietly.

            Cody’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t break eye contact, a kind of clarity in his expression that Rex hadn’t seen even on Cody’s better days on Pzob. “Not much. I just remember that… it really felt like I was dying, but you were always there. I almost started to wonder if I was hallucinating. But I guess… you’re just that strong. You never gave up.” Another faint smile.

            Rex thought of how close he _had_ come to giving up. But in the end it had always been impossible. He felt the irreversible change in him. All there was left to do was accept the strength it gave him. “I only did what I had to do.”

            “Alright.” Cody’s smile faded to a perplexed look.

            “I just meant….” Rex blew out a breath, realizing his remark had seemed to shrug off Cody’s praise. “I couldn’t let you die. Even though I won’t see you again after this.”

            “Don’t say that, Rex.” Cody’s voice held a rough edge. “You don’t know.”

            “But what are the odds?” Rex said, and gestured with helpless hands. “There are thousands of Jedi. Countless planets. We’re not even being deployed at the same time or to the same battlefront. Even if we both survive—”

            “We _will_ survive.” Cody’s fists curled loosely in his lap. “If we survived this, we can survive any—”

            “Don’t.” Rex cut Cody off. 

            “Why not?” Cody snorted. “I never thought you were superstitious.”

            “It’s not that.” Rex shook his head. “It’s just better if we both accept the truth. We can’t delude ourselves.”

            “Fine. But all I’m saying is… don’t say _never.”_ The corner of his mouth pulled back into a pleading grimace and he reached a hand for Rex’s shoulder. Rex leaned in a little closer and grabbed his in turn.

            “All _I’m_ saying is, this is….” Rex swallowed. “This could be the last time we see each other, and… I just wanted to tell you… that I’ve learned things from you that make me who I am now.” The way the others had circled around him after their rank assignments only confirmed what he felt. He was at his best when he let them in. He would keep fighting that certain death for as long as he could.

            Cody’s face softened in surprise.

            “Thank you,” Rex finished, eyes darting away and back again as he realized he didn’t want to miss anything of this last meeting, any possible imprint on his memory.

            The corners of Cody’s eyes were creased warmly as he studied Rex. “I could say the same thing to you.”

            For a moment they both said nothing, a thoughtful look on Cody’s face, their eyes never leaving each other. Rex considered sitting down on the edge of the bed beside Cody, settling in to that silence and sharing it with him for even longer. But then, he knew, it would be even harder to leave.

            “I can’t believe it’s already happening,” Cody sighed at last, eyes falling to the floor.

            “I know,” Rex agreed. “I thought there would be more time. Was it worth it?” he forced himself to ask.

            “What? What are you talking about?” Cody blinked and squinted at him.

            “Picking me out,” Rex joked in a deadpan, but he could feel a wry smile forming. “Dealing with my stubbornness.”

            Cody laughed, and for the first time in what felt like ages, it was a real laugh—even short as it was—not strangled by pain. He pushed himself to his feet and Rex, instinctively reaching to steady him, found their arms around each other fully for a moment, breathing in slow sync as they had on those rainy nights of uncertainty. “Of course it was!” Cody said, an exasperated exhale behind his ear. “I’d be dead without you.”

            “Well,” Rex said, half a laugh shaking his voice in turn as he squeezed Cody and withdrew, hands braced on his upper arms. “If _that’s_ the only reason.”

            “It’s not! You know it’s not,” Cody scoffed with a small grin that faded quickly. He sat down, wincing a little, and Rex did sit by him this time, one arm braced around his back. “I just meant… I think part of why I’m still here is because I wanted….” Cody trailed off, visibly struggling to find words.

            “I think I understand,” Rex said under his breath, thinking of the future he’d imagined, the one without Cody that was an unsettling blank. All of this, and he would have to face it soon anyway. “It _was_ worth it,” he told himself.

            “You’re not allowed to die before our paths cross again,” Cody said seriously.

            “I’ll do my best,” Rex’s voice was hushed, his arm still braced loosely around Cody’s back. “Same to you.”

            Cody sighed heavily, head bowed, eyes half-closed.

            There was an emptiness to the promise that Rex was sure they both felt, the vastness of the galaxy stretching out before them in disparate paths. He held his mind back from believing in any wished-for end, focusing instead on that same certainty that had settled on him back on the planet’s surface. Impermanent did not mean inconsequential. He squeezed Cody’s shoulders, blocked out all thought of the future for a moment, and tried to imprint on his mind the precise feeling in his heart, the person he was when Cody was nearby. _That_ he could hope would stay with him, come what may.

            At the pressure around his shoulders, Cody’s head shifted toward his a little. Rex watched him close his eyes and inhale slowly, eyebrows knit together—it looked painful, with the scar still healing.

            “I wish I was going with you,” Cody said in a quiet undertone when he finally opened his eyes.

            “Yeah,” Rex sighed. He shifted, preparing himself to stand, and felt Cody’s hand on the back of his hair, that familiar gesture.

            “I’m glad you came to say goodbye.”

            Rex stood and turned to face Cody. “I had to,” he said simply, taking in one last look, a small sense of wonder coming over him that for now at least, his closest brother had truly lived through it all.

            “Hang in there, Rex,” Cody said softly, head upturned a little to meet his eyes. “Take care of yourself, alright?”

            Rex nodded once as he picked up his helmet. “See you…” he began, but hesitated, knowing there was no guarantee he would.

            “Yeah. See you later,” Cody said, a tentative hope in his voice. “If luck is on our side.”

            “Yeah.” Rex took one more deep breath, one last long look, before he forced himself to turn away. The look in Cody’s eyes had been open, vulnerable in a way Rex had rarely seen, as if inviting Rex to look closer and interpret what could not be put into words.

            There were no words that Rex knew to accurately describe what he was leaving behind, and what he was carrying with him. The partitions passed in a steady pattern as he left the medical wing, breathing in that same fresh-air sensation, lungs somehow transmuting the tightness in his throat into new strength.

            It was something like triumph, he realized. The thought was mildly confusing, but he let it rest in his mind as he rejoined the flow of troopers in the hall, half of them already wearing that new white armor. His footsteps were swallowed by thousands as he headed for the dispensary and repair stations, and in his mind he had the spirit of two people driving a new energy into his gait.

            Surrounded on all sides, and facing an unknown future, Rex had expected to want victory and perfection for its own sake. But as he fell into the long line to receive the yet-unmarked armor that he would wear into his first real battlefield, he knew he would be fighting for more than recognition, a principle, an ideal, or a sense of a fitting end to all the work of what he’d become. He would also be fighting for that self born of the years they’d lived together, that unnamed sense of possibility, that promise that was too unlikely to be promised at all.

**Author's Note:**

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> If you liked this and want more, please check out our other clone-centered fics, [Live To Fight Another Day](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1663136) and [One Of A Million](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2259198)!


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